Moon
by Meridian Tangent
Summary: She screamed and thrashed, her hands raw and bloody, nails cracked from her attempts to escape. She could feel the bugs crawling, chewing through her skin, eating her alive. Her voice was raw, hoarse from shouting, pleading for anyone to help her, save her. Would no one come? Did no one care? She screamed again, begged for someone, anyone, to release her from this nightmare
1. Metamorphosis 1

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

She awoke in a field of white flowers.

Her breath was harsh and her body ached, as if fresh from a run. She could smell a sweet scent wafting through the air, carried aloft by a slight breeze that ruffled her clothes so lightly. Turning slightly she looked up and beheld a night sky, solemn gray clouds threading through streaks of blue. The centerpiece was the moon, so large and vibrant it dominated the world above, glowing with a luminosity that she had never seen before. Tilting her head she identified the culprit of the sweet smell: hundreds of small flowers, each with five petals. They bobbed and danced in the slight breeze, giving a life to the field. It was beautiful, calm, and utterly peaceful. She let her head rest upon the cool earth, letting the aroma wash over her, stripping her of the worry, the hardship, and the pain that she had-

Her eyes shot open, a mixture of utter horror and total disgust held within the large orbs.

The locker. The filth. She was there, screaming, trying to get out of the nightmare that they had shoved her into. She pounded on the locker door, howled like a banshee for someone, anyone to help, to release her from such cruelty.

Nobody came. Students left without a care, either unaware of her plight or unwilling to cross those that had placed her there, afraid of the social repercussion. No students. No teachers. Not even one of the janitors. Nobody came to help. Nobody really cared. In the end, her life amounted for little more than just a game for the trio that had tortured her, and an excuse for the faculty that wanted a student to make an example of.

She wasn't there. The locker was gone, and had been replaced by a field of white and a forlorn sky. What had happened? Where was she? How could she have-

Her breath halted, caught in her through as tears prickled her eyes. She had felt the bugs, crawling through the filth, tearing into her flesh. They chewed on her skin and burrowed, eating at her insides as she struggled and thrashed in the confines of her prison.

She had wanted to die, felt like she was. Her body was bleeding from wounds covered by the hazardous material around her. Her strength was lost, her voice strained from overuse, and no one had come.

She curled up, holding her legs, limbs free of the damage that she had felt so deeply, and cried.

For her to be here from such a nightmare, in a field as tranquil and calm as this, meant only one thing.

She had died, and nobody had cared.


	2. Metamorphosis 2

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Her sobs ebbed away, eyes burning with sorrow as tears dotted the ground. She knew not how long she lay there, mourning the loss of everything she had known. She whimpered as she brought up a hand, wiping away the fluids that had been brought forth. She noticed numbly that her clothes, a brown sweatshirt with a green t-shirt and a pair of old jeans, were clean, free from the filth that she had been covered in. Looking over herself she discovered the same was true for her body, the only evidence of distress being her recent cry.

Of course, why should she have wounds? She was de-

She halted that line of thinking instantly. She couldn't think about that right now, her emotions too fragile. Her cry had been cathartic, releasing a weight from her shoulders that she hadn't noticed until now, but she could barely handle what was happening to her.

Simple things, simple thoughts. Those were safe and comfortable. Focusing on what was happening to her in the here in now.

So noticed idly that she wasn't all that hungry or thirsty, though that didn't really mean anything since she'd had lunch not too long ago...maybe. She really had no idea how long she had been asleep, in this field of white. It could have been hours, maybe even minutes.

Years could have passed, everything that she had known changing in the eye blink that she had been unconscious. People moving through the lives, causing more suffering, inflicting so much harm tha-

Stop. Don't think about that. Stay simple, stay here.

She wiped her face again, eyes prickling from unshed tears, and sat up, her dark curls catching on some of the flowers. Taking a moment to free herself, she looked around, taking in the sanctuary she was in.

She noticed the tombstones immediately. They were everywhere, just on the edge of the field, half buried in mounds of earth covered by moss and lichen. The stones differed in sizes, ranging from small monuments to large pieces half her height. They were inter spaced and faded, the text unrecognizable from the deteriorated stone. She squinted her eyes, straining to make out the words of a nearby tombstone, and was somewhat startled to find that it was the fault of the material and not her lack of glasses that had failed her.

In fact, she could see just fine, something that should not be happening. She touched her face, an act of disbelief, as she took in the field with a new light. It made sense really. She would not need glasses where she was, after all.

She clenched a fist as her breath hitched, struggling to command her emotions. She needed to keep herself distracted.

Carefully she stood, her body lacking the pains it had displayed earlier, and started at the strangest sight she had ever seen.

Columns, great in stature and large in girth, filled the horizon. They rose from a fog filled landscape, a dense mist that sight could not penetrate, and continued skyward, piercing the clouds and beyond. They were set apart at varying distances, some closer to her while many more lay further away. They stood solidly, made of some kind of dark material she could not identify, and dominated the terrain as far as the eye could see.

She idly noticed her jaw had fallen open but she could not care, could not think past the sight she was seeing. It was so alien, so different from what she had ever seen. There was not a place on Earth, on either Bet or Alph, that had these characteristics. What were those things? Did they have some importance? Why were they here? What purpose did they serve.

A chill ran down her spine at the remembrance of a television show she had seen once upon a time, depicting a story where the world was nothing but a large stage for a grand human experiment.

What if the sky had a roof?

She shook her head, dismissing those thoughts. They would not serve her right now. She needed to figure out what was here, not get lost in a past that might not matter anymore.

That thought alone prompted more head shaking.


	3. Metamorphosis 3

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

After spending an hour perusing the grounds she came to a conclusion.

She was not dead.

Well, admittedly, she was pretty sure she wasn't dead. She certainly felt like she was dying in the locker, and her arrival to this place was suspicious to say the least, but her salvation had come in the form of something she was very familiar with: books.

She had found them in an abandoned building, located just a ways from her field. It wasn't very large, maybe the size of her home, and looked like a mausoleum. Tall and made of a dark stone, the structure supported several Gothic designs; several spires, four on the corners and two on the sides, rose above the roof a couple meters with plums of stone flowers held aloft in memorial. The front door was heralded by a vanguard of stone steps that curved around the building, merging into a cobblestone pathway that wound itself through the area. A second door was located near the back, a path leading off to a garden in the back of the building.

It was large, imposing, and dark. It also continued the theme that seemed to compassed everything she had discovered.

The grave.

There were several connotations connected to such a thing. A final peace, a respite from the hardship of life, and an end to a path long traveled named a few.

She tried not to think about it.

Instead, she busied herself with the contents of the building. To her surprise, it was not filled with coffins and cold decay. Instead, it was furnished with numerous bookshelves, spaced on either side of a long open space that spanned the structure, and warmed by an fire crackling in its place. Antique cabinets, ones like those she had seen in on those expensive road shows, lay here and there, windows fogged up and dusty from ill use. Two large rugs, while circular designs spread across a pale blue field, covered a old but well kept hardwood floor. A few desks, filled with various implements that looked more appropriate in a forge, rested by the walls, their wooden chairs weathered and cracked from age. Ahead, near the back, sat an alter. It was large, about a meter and a half in length and half that across, and stood up to her waist. Over a dozen lit candles, sitting in bronze candlesticks, sat on upon the alter, their gentle flames bobbing. Upon the alter, surrounded by the candles, rested what she could only assume was an artifact of some kind.

A bloody shawl.

It was pale, faded, and hung half way down the stone. The blood was centered on the top, surrounded by the candles, and formed a familiar shape that sent a shiver down her back.

A head would fit there.

She tried not to think about it.

Directly behind the alter lay a raised floor, two sets of stone stairs leading upwards a few steps, elevating the last few meters of the interior. There lay two more pale and blue rugs, one along the left stairwell and the other just behind the alter. A couple stacks of dusty tomes sat in silence along the walls, but that wasn't the important. No, this space was bare save for a single statue, the only evidence of humanity she had seen. It was a young woman. She wore a dress mostly covered by a shawl that flowed over her head and shoulders, covering her upper body and flowing to the floor, leaving her front exposed. Her arms were crossed at the wrists, just over her abdomen, her hands limp and resting. Her face was of serene peace, eyes closed and head tilted slightly to the side and down.

The statue was at peace, calm and quite in gentle supplication. It also held a great position of importance, its figure being the thing one immediately saw when looking up from the alter.

It meant something, that she knew. Maybe something of worship? An idol?

She didn't know. Part of her didn't want to know.

The books themselves posed more questions than answered. To her surprise, most of the texts were written in some kind of language she didn't recognize. Curved and hard angles made up most of the letters, or what she thought were letters. Fumbling through dozens of similar books left her at a loss for what they could mean, or what was even written on them.

She stopped searching when she noticed that when she wasn't looking directly at them, the words seemed to bend and crawl, moving like spiders over the yellow paper.

She tried not to think about it.

Thankfully a portion of the texts, a few dozen, were written in alphabets that she recognized, even if she didn't understand. Sitting in one of the chairs, she flopped against the back and breathed a sigh of relief. There was something recognizable here, something that connected to her world. That meant something important, something good. These books came from somewhere, were written by various hands of various backgrounds. It meant that someone had been here before.

It meant that there was a way back.


	4. Metamorphosis 4

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

The doll was the strangest thing she had found.

She had found it resting in an alcove just off the main path, at the start of the steps that led to the building. At the size of a full grown woman, the doll sat resting against on a bit of land that stuck out from the foundation of the mausoleum. It sat upright, back resting against a cobblestone wall, hands resting in its lap. It was clothed in shin high boots, a long dark skirt, something favoring black more than blue, and a brown top that looked more like a corset with long sleeves. A brown wrap, embroider with beautiful patterns that swirled, covered the arms and shoulders. A small amulet rested on a red neck wrap that was fastened around the high collar of the top, a small thing that seemed to glitter in the pale moonlight. Finally, the doll wore a bonnet, made of the same brown material as the wrap, with three flowers fastened just behind the left ear.

It was odd, out of place in this dreary setting. The clothes looked like they had been lifted from some Victorian design, clashing badly with her own modern apparel, and that in itself wasn't the strangest part.

It looked so real. The face was immaculately sculpted, high check bones raised over small lips and a dainty nose. The eyes shown with a silver gleam, reflecting the pale moonlight with a faux life, and were accented by the use of some make up. The hair, and it really did feel like it, was a pale while and hung down to the base of the neck. The hands, the only other body part visible, display the true nature of the doll, the pale joints segmented and connected by unseen clasps.

The doll was nothing like she had seen before. She had seen porcelain dolls in some stores along the Boardwalk at home, small things that a child or some collector would be enthralled to have. This was something else, something far greater than any of those inferior examples. Running her fingers across the face, she noted that the porcelain didn't feel right, not like those smaller dolls. This was harder and much more sturdy.

Stepping back, she looked over the doll in confusion. What could she make of this? What was it for? Who built it? It was easily the largest doll she had ever seen, measuring taller than her own form, taller than most girls her age, and was dressed in nice, if antiquated, clothes. The material felt expensive, a mixture of the roughness of wool and the velvet of silk.

She spent upwards to an hour with the doll, looking it over, comparing it to what she had seen elsewhere, finally coming to an uncomfortable conclusion.

The statue and the doll were of the same person.

If the statue was an icon set at an alter, then what did that make the doll, crafted in the image of something to be worshiped?

She tried not to think about.

Turning to leave the doll, she noticed a distortion on the road, a twisting of the cobblestone that made it look liquefied. She paused, watching the odd event, waiting for anything to occur. After a few minutes of nothing more than the fluttering of flowers in the breeze, she stepped forward, approaching the distortion.

It twisted, pulled, and opened.

She jumped back and screamed.

Four creatures, small and pale white, had emerged from the distortion, springing up with surprising speed. They were small, barely reaching half way up her calves, and looked monstrous. Skin stretched over bones and thin arms that ended in bony hands. They were hairless and malformed, some missing eyes, empty socks staring into some maddened abyss, while others had teeth and jaws, mouths held open as a low moaning began. They were pressed together, as if to many attempted to pass through whatever the distortion really was and got stuck, fumbling around each other, the torsos merging into the distortion. They twisted and turned, pushing and pulling, each trying to move forward and closer.

Closer to her.

She couldn't breath, eyes wide with fright and disgust at the grotesque things. She watched them, her body ready to move at a moment's notice, her feet moving into position for another quick backstep.

They continued to fumble, each vying to get closer as some reached out in a beckoning motion.

It was then that she noticed something completely off putting atop their gross, misshapen heads.

They were wearing top hats.

Small headgear in the same Victorian fashion she had seen earlier, they were black wide brimmed hats with a single brown band around the base.

They would have been cute if not the situation.

She waited, observing their continued motions, before letting out a breath. Her heart pounded from the fright, her blood rushing through her veins leaving her a little flushed. She let out a small laugh, a cathartic release that she didn't really feel, before taking a step forward.

The creatures seemed to react, bidding her forward with bony arms and eyeless skulls.

She swallowed hard.

Nothing here had ever hurt her. This was a peaceful place, a safe location, a sanctuary of sorts. She felt fine, better than even. Her sight was perfect and her body acted with a speed that she wasn't aware she had. Things had changed, changed in a big way. She held a theory on that, a hope against the horrific alternative.

She walked forward and approached.

She stopped about foot away, looking down at the small things crowding around each other. She blinked and instantly one of the creatures was holding a long purple scroll. It looked old, with crumpled edges, and had a similar effect that the distortion had, the edges of the scroll bleeding into the air. The four beings maneuvered, each taking an edge, and opened the scroll.

She blinked at the text. It was legible. She understood it.

She read.


	5. Metamorphosis 5

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

She had died.

It was a realization that had prompted more tears and a small panic attack.

They really had left her to rot, to die in that filth. It was an act that still left her in disbelief, that such cruelty and malice could exist in the form of some high school girls. Oh sure, they may not have meant it. To push her beyond anything she had experienced before? Sure. To psychologically scar her perhaps worse than when her own mother had died? Maybe.

To kill her? She didn't think so. She didn't want to think so.

Still, what did intent matter when she had actually died. She knew the law. Negligence was as good a cause as any.

She sat in in a chair, one less cracked and withered from age, by the crackling fireplace, pondering such dark notions. She was hunched over slightly, a side affect of the bullying to make herself seem smaller, less noticeable. Her hands rested in her lap, warmed by the heat of the gentle flame.

They had pushed her for so long, starting with the deep betrayal of her best friend and stretching to years of effective torture. The locker had been the penultimate achievement in their campaign, the final nail in the coffin

Her coffin. She had died there, after all.

But it was more than a final end. No, it was a rebirth.

She had triggered.

She had read about them in PHO, events during which a person becomes a Parahuman and gains powers. Speculation was wild about what the events entailed, since it was a private matter, but it was clear that an experience with enough potency has the capability to transform someone.

She had died. It didn't get more potent than that.

Her body had changed. She was faster, reacted quicker, and was stronger, able to lift a few of the mid sized headstones without care. Her stamina had increased some, but not as much as she would have hoped for. She would have to do something to get into shape, maybe take up running or some other activity. She was in excellent health, her eyes corrected and her skin wiped of blemishes.

The fire continued to crackle, logs tumbling in the flames, kicking up cinders as they were consumed.

There was more though, beyond the changes to her body.

The scroll had taught her that.

This place, the fields that lay beyond the building she sat in, was part of it all. A small place of solace. A home away from home. A quiet in the raging storm of her life. It was a location that belonged to her, a place of peace and safety that she could retreat too.

It didn't exist in the real world, that she was sure of. Nothing about any of it looked recognizable. It must have been created when she triggered, gifting her with a place of rest. More so, it came with the tools that she would need, in time.

Tilting her head upwards she observed several long sheets of metal, ranging from the length of her arm to half her body, mounted on a wall. They had been cut jagged, wicked teeth on some while others were twisted into blades. They looked dangerous and were sharp, her own palm a victim of their honed edges when inspecting the items.

She tried to ignore how angry being cut made her, a sudden aggression that had come from nowhere. She also tried to ignore how the cut had clotted, scabbed, and healed within minutes of the event.

This place was a workshop of sorts, a place where she could create things to help herself. Even after the terrible years at school, a witness to the surge of gang influence and corruption, she wanted to be a hero. Those three, the trio that had hurt her, killed her, were monsters, but she was stronger. She had vowed to never let them win, to ignore their taunts and cruelty, to grow and become better than they ever could. She would endure, graduate, and move on to better pastures a stronger woman.

Then she had died. It was as far as any normal person could endure a hardship.

Looking back into the fire she frowned.

She was done with enduring. It had been the literal death of her. Time to be more proactive.

She had powers, however they affected her. She had this place, a workshop where she could build what she needed. The trio were beneath her now, lesser in the scope of what she could accomplish. With what she had she could help others, fight the gangs, push back the tide of pain and suffering that infested the city. She could save people, defend others, and do so much good.

She nodded to herself, set in her conviction.

She had died, but she had been given a new life. It would be a better one then her last.

With that she leaned back against the chair, watching the fire burn, lulled to sleep by the gentle popping of the wood.


	6. Metamorphosis 6

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

She awoke to the smell of blood and rot.

She gagged, cringing at the terrible stench, her mind heavy with a drowsiness. She blinked heavily and sat up, leaning on her knees, and looked around.

She was back. Back at the school. Back to the locker.

She screeched, an involuntary shout at the horror, and jumped to her feet, her body already moving toward the far wall. She hit it with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs, her eyes wide as she stared at the set of lockers before her, as if they would come alive and rend her apart.

They had already been the death of her once, she supposed.

It took a minute to calm down, her breathing changing to erratic to barely controlled, hitching with anxiety and fear. Why was she here? What about the workshop? The field of flowers? The doll and the creepy white creatures?

Did she really die? Was it all a dream?

One look at the vents of her locker, clogged with filth, dripping with rotted strands of blood, told her otherwise.

She saw a roach exit one vent, near the bottom, and enter through one near the top, where she had been screaming out of.

She turned and ran.

Her lungs burned and her legs ached, her body flushed from her flight. She blew through the doors of the school with but a moment's pause, squinted at the blinding sun as her eyes adjusted.

It was daylight. It couldn't be past five.

Her mind whirled and she looked down at her watch.

 _4:36pm_

That made no sense. She had spent hours at the workshop, exploring every nook and cranny of the place, and the books alone had taken more than a couple. What was going on? Did time work differently in the workshop?

That brought up another question: why was she back? What had happened? She remembered nodding off, soothed by the calm of the fire and the sweet smell of the flowers. Next she was on the floor, just feet from where she died.

She felt a spike of worry. How would she get back? Could she even get back? It was such a good place, free of problems and stress. More, it was her space, a location that nobody could touch, that no one knew of. What would she do without it?

Tears prickled at her eyelids and she inhaled deeply, gathering resolve.

Focus. Your back home. Its just a little over an hour after school. Get home before dad worries.

She briefly appraised herself. Her clothes, once dirty from the filth of the locker, were just as fresh as when she at the workshop. Her personal affects were likewise untouched. It was like she was never there, just a bystander to a terrible event.

She would never forget how it felt.

She took a step and started walking.

She didn't stop till she got home.


	7. Metamorphosis 7

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

It was twilight when she arrived.

The light of the setting sun, amber hues mixed with deep reds, heralded her arrival as she walked up the street. Her house, a quaint thing that her parents had worked hard to provide, was on the outside a imitation of her own life: a state of disrepair. A broken step by the porch, a series of missing shingles, and countless blemishes to the paint was only just a few example. Still, it was home, and after the day she had she couldn't be happier to be back.

Dying, it seemed, made one appreciate what they had.

She idly noticed that her dad was home, evidenced by the car in the street and the light in the living room window.

She frowned. Hopefully this wouldn't be awkward. He always worried too much.

She maneuvered around the broken step, leaping to the top in a feat of agility she wasn't aware of, and quickly made for the door. A quick jingle of her keys, a twist of the lock, and she was inside.

The smell of dinner hit her instantly, some kind of pasta dish, and she couldn't suppress a smile. She was home. She wasn't dead.

A voice called out from the kitchen, her dad, "Is that you, kiddo!?"

She quickly stepped out of her shoes, racing to the voice.

The kitchen was simple, much like the rest of the house, a few appliances with a sink and an out of date refrigerator. A table with a few chairs lay to the side, a small eating place for the family. Her father, like herself, was tall and thin, dark hair with glasses and a complexion befitting someone who worked on the Docks. She had inherited a lot of her traits from him, a keen mind with stubborn nature along with the clear physical resemblance.

He put down a wooden spoon, the implement dripping with some kind of sauce, and turned to her footsteps.

"Taylor, where have you be-"

She slammed into him with a force she hadn't meant, forcing him into a backstep against the counter, and hugged.

She was alive. Dad was here and everything was fine.

Her mother's death had affected them both, and their relationship had withered as a result. Both were naturally reclusive, introverted by nature, and her mother had brought them together with her energy and love. With her gone, it seemed like something had also went away between them, her family splintering so much more than she had ever wanted. She had wanted to fix it, wanted to sit around watching movies, having fun, like they used to do. In the middle of the tragedy she couldn't think past her own sorrow, couldn't see just how much her dad had been affected. By the time she had recovered enough to try to move on, to keep walking forward with her life, it had been too late. The damage was there, they both knew it, but neither could bring themselves to address it.

Then the bullying began. Survival had been the priority after that.

After a moment she felt his arms encircle her, completing the hug. It was good to be back.

He spoke, his voice quiet and full of mirth, "Not that I'm complaining, but what brought this on?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Instead, she squeezed a bit harder, enjoying the moment.

He grunted at the action before speaking, "Say, when did you get so strong? Have you been exercising?"

Her breath caught in recognition and she relaxed her hug.

She had powers. She had to be careful.

"I'm just happy to be home."

She blinked away the heat in her eyes. Tears would only complicate things.

They stayed that way for a minute before separating, Taylor sporting a grin at the rare smile on her dad's face.

A face that twisted into confusion at the sight of her.

"Where are your glasses?"

She blinked, resisting the desire to touch her face in confirmation, and attempted to keep her face straight.

"I left them at school. Its what took so long to get home. They're in my locker, which got stuck, and there wasn't anyone around open it for me."

He looked at her, searching for something only a parent could see, and nodded slowly.

"Well, I'll give you a ride to school tomorrow. Its not safe to be walking around the city with eyes as bad as yours."

She nodded.

He smiled at her acceptance. Her stepped aside, unveiling the bubbling sauce and the spaghetti setting in a box, and continued, "It'll be an hour before dinner if you want to wash up."

She smiled and nodded, barely suppressing a shudder. She could still feel the filth on her skin, the bugs tearing at her.

A shower would be good. Multiple showers. A lifetime of showers.

She left the kitchen in marginally better spirits than when she arrived, her mood dropping quickly at the realization that she had partially lied to her dad, an action she did not relish, and that she had almost outed herself.

She had left her glasses at the workshop, a place in some other dimension or world. How was she supposed to explain that?

She needed to be careful. She had some measure of enhanced strength now, something that might harm a normal person. Hugs, handshakes; everything that revolved around tactile contact she had to be watchful of.

She stopped and turned back, looked down a set of stairs, many cracked with age.

How had she gotten up here? How many steps had she actually taken?

She shook her head. This was going to take getting used too.


	8. Metamorphosis 8

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

The shower was a godsend.

It was in a large way a purifying event, a cleansing of the horror that she had been exposed to during the day. Despite the lukewarm water, a fault in the water heater that had never been fixed, she couldn't have asked for better. Part of her mind realized that it was largely a cathartic event, something to just reset her emotions and bring her to some sense of normally, but she really didn't care.

She was clean, not filthy with blood and ruin. She was content, not scared and helpless.

She had taken a longer shower than normal, but she really didn't care. If any day called for some deep soaking then it was today. When she was finally finished she was only mildly surprised that dinner had been finished for a good minute.

Despite her earlier emotional display, dinner was largely a normal event, both father and daughter exchanging tidbits about the events of the day.

Taylor's, of course, was heavily edited. She had never told her dad about the bullying, though she suspected he had an idea of what was going on. How could she even begin to tell him about the workshop, or how she got there for that matter.

How was my day? Oh the usual: social ostracism, the continued betrayal of my best friend, and favoritism by the teachers. I did wind up getting shoved into a bio-hazard of a locker, died, and got powers, so that was new.

She ate her spaghetti as she considered the scenario, the pasta just slightly chewy for her taste.

It would have been funnier if it wasn't so sad.

After dinner they watched TV for a bit, her dad explaining a recent development in the slowing dying Dockworkers Union that he ran. There was news about some gang activity: a drug bust by the police, some minor skirmish between some villains, and a recent shootout between the ABB and the Merchants. Really, it was nothing new, nothing different. Another day and more people died from the monsters walking the streets, a rot that the city just couldn't seem to excise. The major gangs were a cancer, groups of normal thugs and Parahuman villains that hurt and maimed for just an edge more control over the city.

Her hands clenched, nails lightly biting into her palms. They were monsters that fed on the anguish and pain of others. Like Emma. Like every other bully.

She excused herself, citing homework that she had to get too, and retreated to her room before she did or say something stupid.

A spare notebook, one of the many she had laying around, found itself in her hands, a pen lightly tapping on the front page as she pondering the problem before her.

What exactly were her powers?

If she was going to do something about the gangs and the violence that consumed her city then she needed to get a hold of what she could do.

 **-Some kind of super strength. Something biological, stress through the muscles. Some kind of Brute rating? A light enhancement, something beyond peak psychical conditioning.**

 **-Healing factor. Regeneration. Fixed eyes and cleared skin. Is it always on? Does it only react to wounding? How far will I heal? Finger? Arms? Speed of healing?**

 **-Aggression. Wounding causes anger. Something for combat? Forces the combatant to fight harder. What's the point? How far does the anger go?**

 **-Enhanced speed. Short term swiftness. Able to dodge or dash VERY quickly. Also biological in nature: tiring after so many repetitions. How fast can I go? Can amount of dashes be increased by conditioning? Is relativity a thing? Fast moving Taylor = slow moving world?**

She took a minute, looking at the page filled with black notes, gathering her thoughts. The prior stuff was easy to mention, things that really weren't all that special in the cape world. In a city where people flew, turned into dragons, and fired high powered lasers, her skill set really wasn't anything special. Really, it was just a Brute rating, maybe something significant if she could figure out how fast the healing was.

Really, it was the next part that was more than a bit unnerving. No Parahuman that she knew of had a skill set even close to hers.

 **-Workshop. Exists in separate world. Unknown how to travel back and forth. Has various tools and implements. Can I make weapons? Armor? Tinker rating? How do the tools work?**

 **-Workshop world has odd characteristics. Books with various known languages. Have other people been there? Are the books meant for me? What do they say? Do I share the Workshop with others? Can they come and go? Time flows differently in Workshop world. Advantage? Disadvantage? Exited the Workshop world through sleep. Method of transportation? Connected to dreams?**

 **-The Doll and the statue. Clearly based on human design. Did the statue come first? The Doll? Both? Who made them? Did anyone make them? What is their purpose?**

 **-The creatures. What are they? Can they understand human speech? Where did they come from? Carried a scroll written in English. They're messengers, things meant to help. Possible Master rating? What could they do? They came through a portal. Are they separate from the Workshop?**

She squinted her eyes at the page, a deep unease beginning to form. The creatures, the messengers, where unexplainable. More, they could seemingly enter the Workshop at will, using whatever Mover power they have. Where did they come from? What nightmarish reality would conceive of such strange and horrifying creatures.

She felt a chill roll over her, like an air of foreboding that she only just realized, far to late to escape.

She shook her head, attempting to clear her mind. They were messengers, helpers. That was good enough. She didn't want to think about the rest.

After a minute she returned to the page, musing on whether or not to add a small addition, before finally driving forward.

 **-What's with the small hats?**

A satisfactory nod followed the note. It really was something to be answered, considering the oddity. She could handle that small mystery.

Her small grin died as she considered the last note, something she really didn't want to put down. She still had a hard time coming to grips with the reality of her situation, half worried that she was gonna turn into a zombie or something. Really, nobody she knew of could do this. No one. The Butcher was close, but even then it just took on the body of its killer.

She swallowed hard and continued.

 **-Revival. Died in locker. Awoke in the Workshop field. Clothes were repaired of damage. Includes damage outside of scene of death. Body likewise fixed. A hard reset of all items on person at time of death. Long term effects of revival? Alive or dead? Is the event repeatable?**

She stopped, swallowed hard, and tried to keep her hand from shaking. It was an uncomfortable thought. She had died and been reborn in a world not connected to her own. It was event that was as scaring as it was freeing. She had come back, enjoying the world with literally fresh eyes and a new sense of purpose. Really, even if getting back to the Workshop was as simple as she was thinking, then she could leave her worries here.

But she couldn't. She had died and been revived, by some strange twist in her powers. Even if she didn't remember the exact moment of her death, it haunted her, taunted her with its finality. It left a deep worry, beyond the thought of becoming some kind of monster that hungered for flesh. Now she had a fear of a separate kind, one that shook her to the core, a thought that brought up long buried emotions of just after her mother's death.

 **-Can I even die?**


	9. Metamorphosis 9

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

She liked the library.

It was a peaceful place, a location where one could just get lost in the accumulated knowledge held within and be comfortable in the silence. The rustle of shifting pages, the light thumps of books being dropped, and the squeaking of carts rolling along, pushed by bored volunteers. It wasn't home, but it was a location where she could sit and think, work out problems that she had, solve issues that really irritated her.

Like she was doing now.

She had arrived not long after school ended, opting to avoid the crowd by skipping the last ten minutes of class and leaving. Sure, it probably wasn't a habit she wanted to form less her grades suffered, but really they couldn't get any worse unless she really tried.

The trio saw to that. Years of sabotaged homework and constant claims of cheating and theft had left her with a GPA that nearly unsalvageable.

Not that she cared. Grades didn't matter when her city was being eroded away by the rot infesting it.

She leaned back in her chair, hands raised as she rubbed her temples, a dull ache rolling across her head. They had been coming more frequently ever since she had figured out how to get back to the workshop.

It had turned out to be pretty simple, really. She kinda felt silly for ever worrying that she wouldn't be able to get back. Clearly it was hers to use, despite its odd inhabitants and strange implements. What kind of power would show her such a useful place and then never let her back?

Sleep, she had found out, was not just an exit, but a way in. The first night back, the day of her rebirth, she had gone to sleep filled with worry, and had awoken, again, in the field of white flowers. She had felt rested, calmed by soothing wind and the sweet scent wafting in the breeze. More, where before she had been exhausted from the day and its events, she felt rested, ready to rise, as if from a deep sleep. Some testing had provided a discomforting realization of a new facet of her powers.

She no longer dreamed.

More, she wasn't sure if she could even sleep anymore. While she felt rested she could tell that barely any time had passed. Baring the fact that she did have to sleep, she was effectively an insomniac.

The condition had led to some awkward moments at first, when she was still fiddling with getting her sleeping pattern together, but really it was more beneficial than she had given it credit. Now all she had to do was jaunt off to the workshop for a few hours, take a nap, and barely any time had passed.

She could get so many things done!

She smiled fondly at the thought. Really, it had been nice at the time, to have so much time. It had quickly become apparent that it wasn't nearly enough for what she needed to do.

Stop the gangs. Free the city. Save the civilians who were suffering.

Like her first day with her notebook, now half filled with detailed findings and half baked ideas, she needed to do some research.

One did not simply take down the ABB, Empire, and every other gang in Brockton Bay.

No, it took preparation, planning, and a whole lot of firepower.

She was working on the first two. She'd get around to the latter.

Her research, a culmination from spending nearly every waking moment of the last few weeks since gaining her powers tackling her problem, proved a very unfortunate fact.

She was in over her head.

Oh, sure, declaring a crusade to purge every gang and villain in a city was ambitious, foolhardy even, but it had to be done. They were bad guys! She was going to be a hero! It was only logical that she bring the fight to them.

That said, her biggest problem wasn't just the numbers or influence, but the power sets involved. Power sets that either avoided her or full on countered her abilities.

She was a Brute. Her regeneration, as she had discovered, really only applied when at the workshop. Here she was just as normal as they came, having to use bandages and wraps to deal with cuts and sprains. Sure, she could punch through a cinder block without a problem, but one slip with a kitchen knife and everything goes wrong.

She squinted her eyes as she stared ahead., rubbing as the ache faded.

Not one of her proudest moments. A simple welcome home dinner turned into a panic induced spree to hide the wound from her dad. She wouldn't have been able to explain why it had disappeared the next day.

Her research into the gangs had showed her that most of them had something that could beat her, if not kill her. The ABB, while not Parahuman heavy, had quality. Oni Lee, a teleporter that could make clones which acted as suicide bombers, made her natural strength and speed almost useless. Sure, maybe she could dodge the bomber or escape the explosion, but if she couldn't get to his real body then it didn't matter. Then there was Lung, the leader and undisputed powerhouse of Brockton Bay. The man was literally a dragon, a shapeshifter that changed as the fight continued. His impressive track record aside, his strength was on par with some of the strongest things on the planet when he really got going.

Oh, and he was a pyrokinetic, cause, you know, gotta stick with the dragon theme.

One in depth look at him really made her question whether or not she could deal with the problems facing the city. Sure, normal people would fold under her. The drug dealers, the transporters, the weapon dealers; she had the strength and power to handle most of what normal humanity could throw at her. She was faster, stronger, and motivated to see an end to the suffering. They wouldn't be able to stop her.

The Parahumans that ran all those organizations...yeah, they would be an issue.

The Empire 88 wasn't any better. Despite being at odds with the ABB for territory, they hosted one of the largest contingent of villains this side of New England. They had everything under the sun. Flyers. Changers. Breakers. Blasters. Everything.

Fog, a villain under their banner, had the ability to turn into a some kind of aerosol or mist, causing horrific damage for anyone caught in the zone. The more she thought about it the more troubled she grew. Mist was basically water and air, and if people breathed it in, could they absorb it? Could the cells convert it, layering the water into their own structures and fusing the oxygen with carbon? What would happen to the human if he suddenly decided to pull the mist back together and reform?

That thought had almost made her quit. The possibility of such a horrible death, of every cell exploding at the same time, was nearly too much.

She couldn't quit. These people...they weren't people. They were beasts, monsters in a human form, preying upon the helpless.

She would stop them. She had to stop them.


	10. Metamorphosis 10

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

She could dodge bullets.

Maybe.

She might be able to dodge bullets.

The realization came one day at school. She was in class, doing her best to ignore the snickering and hushed-but-not-quite-hidden whispers about her. They had always been there, preying on her insecurities, ridiculing her for her body and other superficial things. The words tore into her over the years, slowly crushed the resolve to endure into a paste that they had used to smear over the inside of her locker.

She had died because of them. She would never let that go.

The words, the ridicule, seemed so much less now after her awakening. She had a greater purpose to fulfill, something so much more to live for than to prove these stuck up bitches wrong. No, in the end it really didn't matter what they thought. They were monsters who fed off of the pain and terror of a 15 year old girl.

They were also murderers, or associated with the crime. They were killers who walked free, who never faced justice. As a hero, was that enough for her to act? Should she act, given the extent she could hurt someone?

Would she even care to stop if she did?

She tended to those thoughts, graphic ideas of revenge and unchained aggression, as she left the class, the mean words a far memory. It would be so easy, so simple. She had the strength that nobody would be able to stop her. None of them had powers, she was sure. Sophia was an athlete, sure, so that might be an issue, but nothing to troubling. They couldn't hurt her even if they tried. Nobody could, really.

She had already died once. What more was that?

As Taylor was walking out she turned to each in turn, gauging her thoughts against reality. Sophia had already left, headed to the track meet scheduled today no doubt. Emma, her former best friend, stood with her cronies, likely coming up with new ways to make her left harder. Honestly, she had held out the hope that they would stop after the monstrous event they had put her through, that some form of human decency and good would win out and they would realize how terrible they had been.

That hope had died the very next day when Emma had 'spilled' juice all over her.

She sighed. It didn't matter anymore. They had thrown their worst at her and it hadn't stuck. She couldn't bring herself to care what anyone, even the corrupt teachers, thought of her after that.

She turned to face the last of the Trio, Madison, only to find a straw pointed in her direction.

An instant later a spitball was blown out.

It was odd how her body reacted to dangerous situations now. Her heartbeat sped up, going from normal to pounding within an eye blink, and her senses sharpened. She could hear the small whispers of Emma's group, the talk having turned to the latest fashion. The sounds of lockers, several meters down the hall, clinking and clanging were vibrant to her enhanced hearing. Her eyes, sharpening to such an intensity, could track the motion of the spit ball, a small orb of pasty white, as it flew across the room.

The oddest part was how time seemed to slow, how everything went from normal to several degrees off so fast. People moved slower, walking as if through water with hair suspended in the action of turning a head only for it to fall moments later.

It was weird, strange, and, more to the point, only happened when she was in danger.

The spit ball continued to fly, crossing over empty desks and passing through the arms of a boy getting his bag.

She could dodge it. She could feel it. It would be easy. Just a simple step to the side, a short hop. Her body felt so alive, so capable, that she could barely contain herself.

Barely.

Can't out herself now, can she?

The spit ball hit, splattering against her sweater, and everything snapped back into place.

She locked eyes with Madison, the latter giving a sneer in her direction.

She didn't stick around to listen to how Emma would spin this, talk about how she was a waste of space and other horrible things.

'Barely' had been too close.


	11. Metamorphosis 11

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Taylor didn't know what she was doing.

She stepped back, huffing in frustration, crossing her arms as she stared at the desk before her.

It sat there, filled with strange implements and jars of various fluids, giving no hint in the wake of her consternation.

Alright, so Tinker was probably out.

The workshop was the same as ever: flowers gently blowing in a slight breeze, the moon hanging over a darkened sky, and dozens of books scattered over the floor. The doors had been left open, allowing the breeze to drift through the workshop, gently teasing at loose pages and her hair.

She huffed again and turned away, her feet taking her out the front door. She had been at this for an hour or so. Maybe. Time was hard to tell in the workshop world. Her watch, a reliable, if cheap, digital piece, reacted oddly at the workshop, numbers flashing in incoherent patterns.

There were a lot of weird things in the workshop world. Her crazy watch set pretty low on her 'don't think about it' scale.

This place, the workshop and everything in included, was hers to use. Nobody ever disturbed the messes she would leave behind, or moved anything out of place. After weeks of exploration, it became clear that she was alone in her ability to reach such a place.

So why could she not use it? Why had her powers not given her the ability to 'know' how this stuff worked?

Tinkers could make the most broken things. Lasers, flying devices, and battle vehicles were just a few. Most could create devices that were just plain unfair, while the more esoteric Tinkers messed around with sciences that twisted space and made reality warped.

Each had their own specialty, but one thing that all Tinkers had was some kind of knowledge, an intuition about how their technology worked, that allowed them to build such fantastical devices, the down side being that only they could maintain it.

She had no idea what to do with this stuff. The larger tools were simple to discover; lathes and large clamps used to forging and shaping long pieces of metal or wood. Others, such as the dozens of jars filled with various liquids, where a bit harder to find out. Further still were devices that she only discovered when searching on a medical supply website. This discovery brought a fairly startling revelation to the nature of what the workshop did.

Blood was a critical component, though she wasn't sure how There were cabinets filled with small glass jars, about the size of her palm, that looked like primitive auto injectors, the glass stained yellow with age. Other materials included rubber tubing and long needles, ostensibly used to siphon the viscera. The bloody cloth on the alter seemed to corroborate this finding, though the reason for its presence wasn't very clear. Overall it ranked fairly high on her 'don't think about it' scale, somewhere between the messed up time and the weird pillars in the distance.

The blades hanging on the wall...she had no idea. They were probably meant for a weapon, but then where did the blood come in? How did you even use the lathe without some measure of force? Was she supposed to heat the material in the fireplace?

She sighed, stopping at the base of the steps and glanced at the doll. It stared ahead, blankly, its faux hair tilting as the wind breezed by.

"I don't suppose you know what's up with this place, huh?"

It sat there, silent as ever, leaning against the stone outcropping, staring into something that, perhaps, only it could see.

The doll didn't answer her. It never did.

Taylor sighed, hands raised as she threaded fingers through her curls. Great, she was talking to the doll now. Was she loosing it? Between the constant feeling of missed sleep and her drive to remove the monsters from her city, she was beginning to wonder if her powers were affecting her mind. It can't be healthy to have the representation of your need for a safe place to be filled with gravestones and deadly implements.

She wasn't crazy. Emotionally damaged and socially paranoid, sure, but not crazy.

Really, she wasn't!

Taylor turned and looked up at the workshop, taking in the gothic design and the stone work. It was impressive, to say the least. She figured that it would take a serious amount of skill to create the structure, not to mention the statue behind the alter. The tools, the doll, the workshop; everything that was part of this world was suggestive of a master's hand, a person of incomparable skill.

A person that she was not.

A person that she had to become.

She set those thoughts aside, walking past the doll to a small grassy alcove in between the workshop and a small path and traveled upward, in a slope, to the back door. Nestled in the alcove was a small basin, a bathe, made of stone and carved with intricate swirls. A few rungs encircled the wide rim, like handles, a way to lift the heavy object, she figured. It was beautiful, much like everything else that she had found here.

And, much like everything else, it held some deeper truth.

She was only a few feet out when the messengers surged forth, springing up from the water as a light mist began pour out of it, their bodies as grotesque as ever. A dozen of the little things, some hanging off of the side while others crowded around to wave their bony hands at her, turned to her and began to emit their characteristic moans.

It turned out that they didn't need their small portals, at least not all the time. They could also use the bathe.

The first time it had startled her so bad she had slipped on the damp stone the bathe sat upon and had awoke in her bedroom.

It wasn't her proudest moment.

One messenger, a small thing with beady, yellow eyes and a maw with few teeth, held its hands clasped together in front, like a salesman looking to make a dollar. Of course the top hats were present, one messenger even tipping it in her direction in a greeting.

She tried not to think about it, to think about what these things were. It was hard at times. Times like this.

She stopped a foot away, the merchant messenger gazing up at her, its mouth held open like all the others, and cleared her throat.

"So, uh, I need some help."

The merchant messenger nodded its head, an action that severely disturbed her.

They could understand her. What else did the know?

Taylor recovered, watching the messengers, somewhat worried that a couple would fall out of the bathe with how far they were leaning over the edge. They wouldn't, they never did, but she couldn't help it.

"I don't know how to use the stuff in the workshop. Can you help me with that?"

The merchant messenger continued to stare, eyes covered over by some kind of pale film. They were disgusting, but she needed help, needed some guidance.

After a minute of ceaseless moaning she continued, her desperate tones bleeding through.

"Please, I don't understand what the workshop is for or how to use it. I need help with this, help with how I'm supposed to use this to be a hero. My home, my city, is full of monsters that are hurting people, killing people. I need to know how to save them!"

She was nearly shouting at the end, desperate for some form of salvation. Her research had showed that she was heavily outmatched by most of the Parahumans in the city. She needed to have something to fight back, something to help her become that stronger person.

One messenger dipped its arm down into the water and pulled back, passing some object forward and to the waiting hand of the merchant messenger. It took the item and held it aloft, its hands curve and beckoning to her, as if giving an offering.

She tried not to think about it.

Reaching down she took the object, a small piece of vellum, she recalled, its edges burned from some fire. It was faded yellow with age but was surprising malleable, folding like fresh leather. She didn't really know what to make if it. How would this help her?

Taylor looked down at the merchant messenger and it seemed to motion toward the object.

She turned it over and beheld a curious symbol. It was a similar to a trident, a long line pointed downward ending in three spokes. The two outer spokes were bent so that their tips reached inward, crossing an invisible line just sightly above the middle spoke. At the intersection was a single dot, a small mark, completing the strange symbol.

She didn't know what to say. What was this thing? What did it mean? What did the symbol mean? Why did the messengers give it to her and how would it help?

She looked down at the bathe, the messengers seeming more alert at the moment.

"Thank you."

She tried not to think about how afterward they swayed with glee.


	12. Metamorphosis 12

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Sometimes, enough is enough, you know?

That moment when a person, already at the limit of what they can handle, is roughly pushed over the edge, into some abyss awaiting below. A line, stretched to the breaking point, is splintered by a final thrown stone.

She had felt it in the past, before she had died. When her homework was destroyed or when she was framed for some act of cheating. Years of malicious acts thrust upon her built up like a pile of small stones, slowly grinding away her will to continue, her will to live.

The theft of her mother's flute had been a harsh blow, a particularly large rock for her to carry. It had nearly broken her.

There were many times she wanted to just quit, leave school and never come back. She knew her options. She wasn't nearly as dumb as her grades let on so a transfer was possible. Despite the stigma, a GED would be preferable to continuing the torture that she had been under. Yet, every time she was pushed to that edge, it was her stubbornness that held the line. She wouldn't let them win, couldn't. She had too much pride for that. They pushed her, abused her, manipulated the people and the system against her for nothing more than petty malicious gain. She was better than them.

That thinking had gotten her killed in one of the worst ways possible.

It was those thoughts that Taylor mused over as she watched the girls surround her, baring an easy escape to the doors. School had just let out and she had made a beeline for the exit, not wanting to be in a den of beasts any longer than she had too. A few quick social maneuvers and Taylor had been stalled and trapped before she even made it twenty feet.

As the circle formed, each girl standing as some form of bulwark, disgusting grins on their faces, as if they could derive pleasure from such petty villainy, the ring leader showed herself.

"Taylor, when are you going to get the hint that you aren't wanted here?"

Emma Barnes. A girl that she had confided in, trusted with secrets that only a young girl would. A trust that had been horrifically betrayed.

Taylor didn't know why and part of her no longer cared. Not long after the death of her mother, Emma had changed into some terrible creature hell bent on destroying the life of her best friend. She had co-opted Madison Clements, the adorable girl that was rarely punished, and Sophia Hess, a track star for the school, into her terror campaign.

Emma was everything that Taylor wasn't. A red head with beautiful features that could land any modeling job she wanted. Curves in all the 'right' places, opposing Taylor's own tall and rail-thin form. She was popular, able to maneuver through the social miasma with ease, came from a rich family, and always knew what to say and when.

Taylor's eyes narrowed.

She was also nothing short of a demon. There was nothing to gain from envying a beast.

Emma seemed to notice the irritation, a small grin appearing as she spoke, "Strike a nerve, did I? Face it Taylor, you should just leave and not come back. It would be easier on everyone if they didn't have to worry about your bad habits."

She gave a half turn, almost as if she was addressing one of the many that surrounded her, and continued, "You know how people like her get. Have to repeat yourself and even then they still won't get it. Probably something from birth, couldn't be her fault. Drove her parents to death I imagine."

Taylor's heart fluttered and she held her breath steady through shear willpower. That was low. She had, in the middle of tremendous emotional turmoil, had shared the details of her mother's death. A death likely caused by an attempt to call her daughter while driving. It was a topic that she struggled with on occasion, especially around holidays or birthdays.

How dare she.

She idly noticed her fists were clenched, her bag having long fallen to her side. She felt her heart pound as her blood raced, her body tensing as if for a fight. She swallowed hard, focusing on control. She had the strength to break these girls, literally. She was a hero, not a murderer.

But she wasn't afraid.

"Shut up."

The snickering, something that only had just started, fell instantly, a quiet replacing the whispers. Emma, who had been in the middle of some tirade, stood frozen, at a loss to her command.

She recovered quickly, taking a step forward, hissing as anger crawled over her face, "What did you say?"

Taylor stared at the girl as she stepped closer, only a couple of feet away, her heart pounding in her ears, her senses on full alert. She was surprised that everything was still moving at the normal speed. It was like her body was in a rush. She felt so strong, so capable, so free.

She couldn't stop herself. She didn't want to.

"Your just a monster, Emma. A horrible beast, just like everyone else. You can only satisfy your thirst by hurting others. Your nothing more than a parasite, a rabid dog that needs to be put down."

She paused, taking satisfaction from the looks of surprise and extreme anger that her foe sported. The others looked just a flabbergasted, shocked that the weak girl would stand up for herself.

She wasn't weak. She would never be weak again. She was more than them, more than anyone. She had the workshop, her powers, and her life. Her ambitions were for far more than just this school.

"Your nothing, Emma."

There was a pregnant pause followed by a banshee wail as Emma launched herself at Taylor.

Taylor moved, reacting faster than the slow moving girl ever could. She reached out and garbed Emma's extended wrist, a hand twisted into a claw, and gripped her shirt top with the other. In one smooth motion Taylor spun, twisting the momentum of the girl, and threw her to the floor, her body landing with a hard thud.

A silence fell over the scene, the crowd in disbelief at the display.

Taylor paid them no mind. The monster in front of her was the real threat, she could feel it in her blood. She waited with baited breath, her stance wide and arms loose, ready to react to another attack.

Emma picked herself up and turned back to Taylor, her red hair falling away in a cascade of crimson. For the first time she stared at Taylor, not in triumph or contempt, but in trepidation.

In fear.

It was less satisfying than it should have been. She blamed the situation. Still, she took the girl in, sitting on the ground, looking up at the person she had ruined and killed. Someone who had, in no uncertain terms, defied her and then had backed it up with force.

She could see it, the realization that she was not going to be pushed around, wasn't going to take the terror anymore.

The realization that the prey was something so much more.

Taylor took one last look, savoring the moment, a catharsis for so much. She turned, reached for her bag, and began walking to the door.

The girls parted before her, unwilling to challenge her path.

She knew there would be repercussions. She had seen the bruises: small blemishes on her face from when she landed and one darker bruise around her right wrist. There was going to be trouble for that, she was sure. People would probably ask certain questions that she couldn't afford, but it wouldn't be the main concern. No, it would be that one of the school favorites was attacked by the recluse troublemaker.

As she exited the door and headed to the front gate she found that she really couldn't care. Detention, suspension, expulsion; events at school didn't matter in the greater scope of what she could be doing, what she should be doing.

What she would do when she got home. She'd put this off enough. Her research had prepared her for all but the worst. The messengers had helped in their own way.

It was time to be a hero.


	13. Metamorphosis 13

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Dinner was a short but sweet affair.

A meal of simple quality, small conversation over daily events, mostly on the side of her dad, and an hour of watching the news together afterward.

Still, despite the bland nature of the experience, Taylor sat content on the couch, enjoying spending time with her dad. Time that, for a short while, she was convinced would never happen again, that she would be forever missing from the world and its events.

Gone and forgotten.

Her small smile inverted as she pushed those thoughts away. Now wasn't the time to think about that stuff. She was with her family, what remained, enjoying the time she had been given.

The news was as samey as usual; reporting mainly on recent Parahuman events and the projects being considered to revitalize the city. Ever since the bay had been shut down, an act precipitated by the sinking of several vessels to block the water way, income for the city had been steadily in flux. The presence of the local Protectorate and the public relations generated from the Wards helped, but really the city was on a downhill slope.

The fact that a gang built around white supremacy was thriving and alive in the city was just an example at how divided and desperate the people were.

Who were people to turn to for help? The Protectorate, for all the good that they fought for, have done very little to push out the corruption and the filth. Sure, Lung was a mighty contender in his own right, but shouldn't that warrant some sort of extreme reaction, something that the Triumvirate could deal with? They were the leading heroes in the country, the founders of the Protectorate, some of the greatest in Parahuman kind. Even one coming to support an initiative against any of the gangs would be overkill, an act that constituted outright war.

But, really, wasn't that better than just letting the monsters give the city a slow death? Shouldn't someone be held accountable, to be stopped when such serious wrongs were being committed?

New Wave, a hero team built from a family with the mindset of not hiding their identities, held their ground solidly enough, keeping trouble down. But what about everyone else in the city? Who were they supposed to turn to for help, for salvation, when they were beset by monsters on all side?

Because, if she was being really honest, the heroes weren't much better than the villains. Sure, they fought to keep the peace and protect people, but they only perpetrated more of the same super powered violence that sparked such anger and resentment in the first place. The fact was that many of them caused considerable property damage in their fights, costing the city even more money, a luxury it didn't have in its struggle to stay afloat.

She had been born during the time of Parahumans, when villains and heroes were real and people could fly, shoot lasers, and perform all sorts of acts. There wasn't an active gang that wasn't supported by some kind of Parahuman, no response team that was headed by something with a Thinker or Tinker power. Slowly, over the period of her investigation, she had come to the stark realization that a great majority criminal violence was, in some way, supported by or counted with someone with powers.

In that case, where did everyone else fall into place?

What about the cop who had to go out on the streets, supporting the feeling of peace and security, yet dreading the day he'd run into something he couldn't handle?

What about the paramedic, called to a scene where civilians were burned or poisoned by some form of unknown toxin made by an evil Tinker, an affliction with no known counter agent?

What about the bank, a place where people trust the safety of the valuables and their wealth, virtually helpless against a Thinker good with numbers or a Mover with teleportation.

Her frown grew into a grimace, the TV long forgotten.

There were thousands of people left caught in the middle of a titanic struggle between forces that they couldn't compete with. They had no voice, no power, and no strength.

They cried out against the monsters plaguing their city, pleading for someone, anyone, to help them, save them, release them from the nightmare they were in.

It was something that cut uncomfortably close to home.

Taylor stood, making up an excuse about unfinished homework, and departed to her room, her good mood somewhat tarnished. Upon entering she went straight to her desk, a small thing filled with various knick knacks and two drawers. From a drawer she withdrew a small box, a wooden container filled with a number of mementos left by her mother. Leaving the box on the desk she went finish her evening routine: a short wash and some studying.

She had to keep up appearances, at least for a little while. Homework, while fairly pointless and equally boring, did give her an alibi of sorts if she 'slept in' tomorrow. She probably wouldn't need it, since it was the weekend, but she couldn't be too careful.

The last thing she wanted was her dad finding out about her powers. The loss of her mother destroyed something in each of them. Her powers were strange and weird. The workshop alone disturbed her in ways she couldn't really describe. Could he handle knowing that his only daughter went to such a place every night? That she could punch clean through a brick wall and could dodge projectiles on the fly?

Could he handle that she had died?

She didn't think so. She barely could.

It was better to leave things quiet, for now. Better to let him sleep with the comforting thoughts of connecting with his daughter again. Better that he didn't know.

A real hero didn't ask for recognition for their acts, for saving lives and stopping threats.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms, looking down at her homework balefully.

Math sucked, pure and simple. Still, she had completed most of it before the weekend had started, a firm accomplishment for any high school student.

She nodded, confident in that assessment, before checking her watch. Her eyes widened slightly as she read the time.

When had it gotten that late?

She shook her head as she stood. She really needed to work on not getting lost in her thoughts. It was beginning to become a problem ever since she got her powers. Ever since she stopped sleeping.

Ever since she found the workshop.

She tried not to think about it.

Instead she grabbed a small bag next a shelf and upended it on her bed, dumping its contents on the covers. Bandages, painkillers, glue, some tape, and other medical essentials lay scattered on the comforter.

Taylor nodded to herself, assured that this was a good choice. She didn't want to kill anyone. She was a hero, not a killer. Really, her goal was to pacify anyone she came across, her strength giving her an undeniable advantage. She needed something to provide what care she could, just in case. Also, having the supplies would be invaluable if she found a civilian in need of aid.

After doing a last count to make sure everything was there, she turned back to her desk and reached out to the box of mementos.

It was something that her mother had given her as a child, a little place to put all of her secrets and treasures. Not many people knew of it, her dad and former best friend being the only two she told. Sure, the latter had a habit of spilling her secrets to the world now, but it was the safest place she could think of in the house.

She opened it, revealing the small treasures held within. A few pieces of jewelry, some necklaces and earrings that she didn't want lost, along with a few pictures that she had of her mother lay together. She began carefully emptying out the box, exposing the velvet lined bottom, a faded purple hue contrasting the wooden box.

This, however, was something that only her mother had known.

Taylor felt along the inside of the box, searching for something shared between mother and daughter. She smiled as she depressed a hidden button, the bottom popping upward slightly, released from whatever mechanism was holding it in place. She lifted the false bottom up, revealing her greatest treasure.

A piece of faded vellum with a curious black symbol.

She retrieved it, setting it aside as she put everything back, pondering the strange thing. The messengers had answered her plea for help with something she had not understood. After an extensive search on the Internet she had concluded that the symbol was largely unknown, something foreign to her world. Much like the workshop world, the symbol wasn't something that could be found through conventional means, and she doubted that anyone who actually had training in such studies would find anything at all. It was special, like the workshop, and something that only she would know.

She had been surprised to find that she could take it out of the workshop, having left it in a pocket absentmindedly. She had tried a few other items such as books and jars to see if anything else could come through, but nothing had stuck. This small thing, a mark with no meaning on something so clearly old, was the only evidence she had that the workshop was real.

It was both comforting and disturbing all the same.

Still, the messengers had helped her in more ways than one. Sure, they didn't talk, were really creepy, and seemed to hang on her every word, but they had responded to her plea for help.

She had asked them for something to help save her city, to defeat the monsters. They had understood that much.

After closing up the box and putting it away she walked back to her bed, standing just in front of the pile of supplies, the curious object of the messengers in hand.

It had taken her a while to figure out what the thing was for. Taylor liked to think it came to her in a dream, but she knew that wasn't true. She didn't dream anymore, just moved from one space to another, leaving behind one world for the other. Maybe some kind of flash of intuition, spurned on by her powers one day while she was sitting bored at school. Really, anything other than the truth would have been preferable.

The answer had come to her when she had woken up one morning after leaving the workshop. The messengers only existed in the workshop world. She could travel between her home and the workshop, a place meant to help build up what she needed on her path. The messengers had given her something that she could take back to her world, a place filled with monsters and suffering, but nothing else could come through.

The answer was simple and something she really tried not to think about.

Taylor swallowed hard, summoning a courage that bellied her age, and maneuvered the object so that the mark was face up on her palm. After a small countdown she lifted the piece of vellum up, covering her eyes with it and her palm, head tilted upward facing the ceiling.

Instantly she felt disoriented, like she was both falling and standing, her sense of direction completely off. She felt sick to the stomach, like something was wiggling around, and felt fire flood her veins. In that moment her body was alight with an energy, the weight of exhaustion and tiredness brought on by a day's work lifted. The world spun once more, shifted, and, before she could tip over, was right again.

Releasing a breath she didn't know she held she took her hand away, dropping the mark on the bed with her other things, and turned to her mirror.

She almost didn't recognize herself, the imposing figure so different from her own form. Gone were the simple clothes she usually wore, replaced with a dark outfit of leather and heavy cloth. Leather boots rose to mid calf, two metal grieves somehow crafted into the material itself upon each shin. Her dark pants, bound tightly by a belt, were rumpled with folds, a loose material made of some kind of resistant cloth. Around her chest she wore a brown leather chest piece, with four brown belts tightly bound over it, a dark outer shirt, and a comfortable white undershirt. Her upper arms were covered in the same dark cloth, lower arms hidden by a pair of leather gauntlets with the same metal protection. A long coat with a flared high collar hung open around her frame, falling to just mid calf, with a belt running around her body like a bandolier, resting at her right shoulder. Finally, a cap completed her outfit, the front tipped sharply with sides that swept back to frayed ends, like wings of a bird. Her long curly hair, normally free to hang and sway, was tied into a tail, out of the way from distracting her.

The mark let her bring a little bit of the workshop back with her.

She took a moment to admire herself, looking over the person in front of her, so different and yet so familiar. The clothes and armor fit her well, as if they had been tailor made for her. Her frame, a tall and thin figure, looked somewhat attractive in that roguish sort of way. Most importantly, she looked like she meant business. No colorful outfit or iconic symbols, no flashy pieces or unique displays. No, this was the uniform of something so much more than just the game played between heroes and villains, more than simple desires of money, power, and control.

She could feel her blood rushing through her veins, the hot viscera calling out to her as she looked at the mirror.

Taylor Hebert had died in a locker filled with filth and contagion. This was who she was now; a dark shadow, a specter who would strike back at the monsters in the dark.

She was a hunter of those would would defile her city.

Taking a last look at the outfit she agreed with the color, something between a faded black and a dark gray. It would serve her well as she moved through the night, keeping her profile hidden. The messengers, when specifically prompted, could be very helpful. She had asked them for a disguise, something to keep her identity hidden, and they hadn't budged. Asking for something to protect her from harm, however, had made them forthcoming.

Quickly she moved back to her bed, boots lightly clicking on the bedroom floor, and retrieved her supplies, placing them in the various pockets inside her coat. The mark she stuck in the right outer pocket, just a moment out of reach. She might need to change back on the fly or something.

After a quick test of her buckles she made for the door, stopping for a moment as she crossed the mirror.

Right, forgot about that.

Taylor reached up to her neck and grabbed at a bit of cloth, a dark fabric that connected to her outer shirt. She pulled it up, wrapping the end just under the bridge of her nose, leaving her ears partially covered. She smiled behind the mask, a convenient feature of the outfit, appreciating how well it worked with the cap. The point, which rode slightly low, hung at her brow, focusing the attention to her exposed eyes, blazing green orbs that promised retribution.

She nodded with confidence before turning to the door.

She had a hunt to get to.


	14. Metamorphosis 14

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Stopping on a street corner she check her pocket watch, a small golden thing that came with the outfit. Flipping open the case she scrunched her face at the time, before closing it and moving on.

Four hours of patrolling and not a single crime.

Oh, sure, people were jaywalking whenever and she saw more than a few cars just run the light because they could, but she didn't really care about that stuff.

No, she was after more worthy prey.

That said, how was she she supposed to help the city if nothing happened!? She even changed her route, heading deeper into the Docks instead of going Downtown, hoping to find someone, anyone, doing something gang related or otherwise nefarious.

She sighed as she walked, her footsteps clicking against the sidewalk. She had, at first, tried to stick to the darkened areas, ally ways and behind buildings, before realizing how silly she looked. After the first hour of finding nothing, and the disappointing let down that it had triggered, she decided to just give up pretense and walk out in the open.

Sure, some people took some pictures, interested in an unfamiliar cape walking around, but that was to be expected. She had given a few nods to some people headed home, those interested in greeting her rather than worried that she was some new villain. While not many villains were so bold to just walk around in public like she was, those that were usually shouldn't be trifled with, their confidence backed up by a serious amount of power.

Ultimately it didn't stop her from being disappointed. She was a hero! She was trying to make the city better! How was she going to do that without any crime to stop!?

Maybe she should get a radio, but she wouldn't even know where to begin with that. She didn't even have a cell phone, thanks in large part to the stigma that hung over her family due to how her mother had died. There had to be a better way to get the ball rolling than just going out for a night and stumbling on a crime.

The sound of gunshot rang out, a loud burst that echoed down the street.

Taylor started running, her blood rushing as her body awoke.

It took nearly a minute to reach the source of the shot, an ally way located just a couple of streets from the main road. She stopped at the mouth of the ally, her boots skidding slightly, her heart stopping at the sight.

Three young men, their clothes disheveled and slightly torn, had two people hostage. The man, someone slightly older by the gray sprinkling his hair, lay next to a dumpster, hand on a bloody shoulder, while a woman of similar age in nice clothes was knelt next to him, pleading for their lives. The young men were laughing, some kind of cacophony of malice, and were speaking in some kind of language.

It wasn't hard to peg them as ABB. They had attacked a older, seemingly well to do couple, for power and gain, for status and pride. They were monsters, attacking civilians who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Good thing she was a hunter.

She started toward them, breaking into a run, her body alright with power and energy. She made it six feet before they even realized she was there. Another five as they panicked in the presence of a cape. She rushed four feet before a response was ordered.

She got to within five feet of the man with the gun before he pulled the trigger.

Time shifted, moving slower than she had ever seen. She could see the bullet, a small thing that came rushing out of the barrel, a trail of fire slowly expanding into a bloom behind it. The people were moving so slow that she could barely see them breathing, one taking seconds to shut his eyes in a blink. She focused on the bullet and her situation. She wasn't going to let it hit her, that was for sure. Her regeneration didn't work outside of the workshop. She had to be careful.

Still, which way to dodge was her biggest concern. She was in a tight ally way, some trash bags and various discarded boxes lining the sides. It would be a pain to have to move through that stuff, and filth wasn't something she wanted on her any time soon. So, really, that left only one choice.

She threw herself forward into a roll, her body tumbling just under the bullet as it continued, her feet gaining traction and propelling her into a run, her speed never breaking.

Time snapped back and she caught the widened eyes of the asian thug as she reached him, disbelief flooding his features.

Taylor timed her footwork, her left foot coming forward as the corresponding hand backhanded the pistol from his hand, a sharp cracking sound echoing across the ally. With her foot planted she swung her right fist forward, throwing her momentum into the punch, driving her knuckles into his chest.

She felt more than she saw his sternum cave in, the bones virtually disintegrating under the strength of her punch. There was less a cracking sound and more the sound of slapping meat, something you would hear in a butcher shop. An instant later the man dropped, his a shout arrested by heavy breathing and moaning.

She caught herself just in time to not trip, catching her weight on her right foot. As she watched the man drop she scanned for the others, weary of an ambush.

They were already running away.

She started forward but stopped after a few steps, restraining herself from moving forward. She shook from the effort it took to not chase them down, to finish what she started, to purge the monsters. Would if she could, but she had civilians to take care of.

Taylor took a deep breath, willing her body to calm down, and took several more as her blood cooled. She turned, minding a knife that had been dropped, and made her way back to the couple.

The woman, who had been previously petrified with fear, was busying worrying over the man, her husband, and his wound. He seemed to be in decent spirits about the situation, smiling at her efforts as he kept a hand on it to apply pressure.

The gun man, however, was not in good spirits. He wasn't in any spirit, really. Instead, he was on the ground, body pulled into a fetal position, his right hand, a twisted mass of fingers and exposed bone that made Taylor somewhat queasy, cradled to his belly. He was coughing up some blood, which made her mildly concerned, but he didn't look like he'd die anytime soon.

She walked up to the couple, interrupting their antics, and spoke as she knelt down to the man, "Sir, are you alright?"

He was looking her over, so was the wife, her outfit so different from anything in the city. She could see the hesitation they had, the wariness, something that everyone had with a new cape. They didn't know her, couldn't trust her motives. Maybe she was in a gang just fighting off some rivals? Maybe she wanted their belongings for herself?

She had to nip that in the bud.

"I have some bandages. We can wrap up the wound while waiting for an ambulance."

The man seemed to look into her eyes, a pair of green that held nothing but a desire to help, before nodding, motioning for his wife to help.

It took a few minutes, and most of her gauze, but they had him wrapped up somewhat decently. The wife, apparently, was someone with some kind of medical experience and did most of the work while Taylor helped steady him.

As they finished she turned to look at the gun man.

Yep, still alive and still moaning. A bit more blood so that was probably bad. Better get help.

"Do either of you have a cell phone?"

The wife responded as she reached into her bag, "Yes, I do! Oh, we should've called the very first thing. They could've been here by now."

Taylor wasn't going to argue that. It was true, after all.

The woman fished out her phone, one of those fancy touch phones, and promptly called the only number that mattered in a situation like this. It was barely seconds before she got an answer.

"Hello? Yes, my husband and I need help, we were attacked by some thugs and he's been shot! What? No, it was in the shoulder, but he's been bleeding a lot, he's got a problem with that. Yes, we've been applying pressure. I work at the hospital and he's fine, but we need help! Where are we?"

It was about that time that Taylor tuned her out, not really caring to follow a pretty conventional 911 call. She busied herself with checking on the gunman, who had graduated from moaning to whimpering, and trying to wipe the blood of her gloves.

She hated having blood on her. The locker had seen to that.

After a minute the woman called out to her, "They want to know who you are!"

Taylor looked over, the wife and husband looking at her with not so hidden anticipation. A new cape was always an exciting thing, no matter who you are. Sure, being in this situation was probably sobering, but really anyone would be a little excited about meeting a new hero that saved their life.

She cursed that she hadn't taken the time to work out a good name. It was hard! All the good names were taken! She wanted to be unique, something that really differentiated herself from everyone else. She wasn't like normal capes. She fought for the people, the civilians, not for a winning side, not for popularity or respect.

She was hunting because someone had too.

"Uhh, I don't really have a name, yet. I'm just someone trying to fix things. A hunter for the beasts, you know?"

By the looks on their faces she assessed that, no, they didn't know. Smooth Taylor, real smooth. Still, woman nodded and relayed the information.

Taylor wilted somewhat. Great, now the PRT was gong to give her some stupid, generic name like Hunter Girl or something. Damn it, why didn't she think that through!? She was so caught up in going out and saving people that she forgot one of the most important parts to a cape identity.

She checked up on the gun man, trying to distract herself from the ball of worry building up. He seemed to be having an issue with coughing up blood so she dragged a trash bag over and propped his head up. She had read somewhere that keeping it elevated helped or something.

Really she was just trying not to think about how creepy she sounded or how dumb a name someone would give her.

"Miss?"

She stopped, turning back to the man as he straightened up against the dumpster, wincing from the action. He looked up at her, a smile gracing his slightly wrinkled face, "I just wanted to think you for helping us. I don't know what would've happened otherwise."

She nodded, a smile hidden behind her mask. She wasn't looking for thank yous and grateful acts, but it sure made her feel good. She was doing something that mattered, even if she only caught one bad guy. Sure, he could get out, but with the damage that he sustained he'll probably think twice about going out and doing something that bad again.

The woman pulled her phone away, announcing the end of the call, "They said they'll be here in a few minutes. Apparently we weren't the only people attacked around here. They've been having an issue keeping up."

Taylor frowned. Why were the ABB gathering here? Their reckless behavior was just drawing attention to themselves. What was the point?

Her eyes narrowed in thought. Could it be a distraction? Were they drawing attention for something else?

She needed to investigate, find out what was going on before the hunt was over.

"I'm going to leave you here then. This guy isn't going anywhere so don't worry about him. If your worried the gun wound up over there and there is a knife just a few feet to my left. The other two are long gone now and I doubt they'll be back."

With her words said and a couple of 'thank yous' received, she turned and continued down the ally way, making her way deeper into the Docks and to whatever was being plotted.


	15. Metamorphosis 15

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Lung. The distractions were for Lung.

How as she supposed to deal with that!?

Taylor lay face down on a roof, just out of sight of the beast and his allies, fighting back a panic attack as she registered what they were plotting.

They were after kids. The end goal was to cut down some kids.

She knew that he was a monster, a literal dragon in the form of a man, but this took the cake. Nobody crossed the line to go after children. Indeed, anything involving civilian emergency services or schools would get a Parahuman tagged with a kill order in no time at all. The PRT and the Protectorate didn't fool around with that stuff.

And here he was, telling his men to go out and shoot some unnamed children.

What in the literal fuck was he thinking!? Had he gone off the deep end, embracing his monstrous side? Was this just the start of some twisted power play for the city? Did he really think he could take on the largest Parahuman group on this side of the Atlantic?

What did it matter, he was going after civilians, kids no less. He had to be stopped.

But, honestly, what was she supposed to do? There were over a dozen of his men there, readying themselves for battle, sharpening their knives and loading their weapons. She was fast, sure, but even she had limits. She could dodge one bullet, but five? Ten? A couple of rounds with some knives and a bat thrown in?

And what about Lung? How was she even going to begin to deal with that? He was so much stronger than her, faster, and could throw fire around at will. Sure her outfit was flame retardant, but there were limits to things. She would burn given enough time. Her strength alone wouldn't take him out, not unless she got the jump on him before he got going. A knock out punch, a swift blow, might be able to bring him down, but then she would be open to the others, standing in a swarm of ABB ready to retaliate.

Her worry increased as she realized that unless she put Lung down and kept him down then it really didn't matter how much damage she did. She didn't know who the targets were, if there were even targets to begin with. She prayed that this wasn't just some indiscriminate attack, shotgun blast of violence.

Alright Taylor, get yourself together. Your the hunter, the one most capable to deal with a monster like this. Your strong and fast. You have the workshop, but its not gonna help you here. Think, girl, what else can you do?

She spent a full twenty seconds on that topic, her nerves fraying from the stress, before she came to a conclusion.

She needed help.

She couldn't handle this threat alone. Really, no Parahuman in the city could handle Lung on their own. Purity, a flyer that could shoot lasers with the power to demolish buildings, would probably do decently against the man-dragon, at least until he grew wings.

Could he even do that? How far does his transformation go? What were the limits?

She shook her head, getting her thoughts back on track. She had no phone, so calling for help was out. She had no allies so she really couldn't rely on anyone to lend a hand. She didn't know who the 'children' were so she couldn't remove them from the danger. Her only option at preventing a tragedy was to attack the beast before he acted.

She closed her eyes, stifling a whimper at the helplessness she felt, the weakness, and lowered her head against the gravel rooftop. She needed help, but from where? If she just ran in there she could be killed! Lung was no joke when he got going. If he was willing to kill kids for unknown reasons then he would have no qualms with killing some dumb teenager for trying to stop him.

Taylor felt a twist, a pulling sensation not unlike when she used the mark, but gentle, something she could barely feel.

She looked up, tilting her head to the right, and felt her heart stop.

There, a short distance away, the gravel roof looked like it was melting, spinning into a familiar distortion.

What. The. Fuck.

What was that doing here!? The workshop world and her own were separate, distinct, and unable to be crossed aside from her sleeping and the affect of the mark. What was going on!?

She heard a shout from below, something in whatever language they were speaking, and the sound of multiple feet moving.

Screw it, she was out of time. The messengers wanted to help, that was good enough. She would decide where it fit on her 'don't think about it' scale later.

She made short work of crawling over to the distortion, her outfit protecting her from the abrasive surface. The messengers sprouted from the distortion, their bodies getting caught half way through as they usually did, their moans beginning to sound out.

"Shh!," she hissed, trying her best to keep quiet, "Keep it down or the beasts will find us!"

The moans lowered notably. She didn't know whether she should be grateful at their cooperation or disturbed that they listened to her.

"What do you want!? How did you even get here!?"

The messengers, their grotesque faces staring at her, or nothing at all in the case of the eyeless one, motioned for her to come closer. She grunted a bit as she did, crossing the couple of feet between her and them.

In an instant they had pulled something out from somewhere, an act she tried not to think about it, and presented it to her, their hands groping for the object as if to share in the offering.

It looked like a cane, that was for sure. It was almost as long as her leg, probably stopping somewhere near mid thigh. It was made of a solid but tarnished metal, pocketed with nicks and chips from obvious use. There was a handle at the top for a palm to comfortably rest, and a grip slightly below that, ostensibly to swing the cane much like a sword. It had a small point at the bottom, wicked sharp, to rest against the ground. The body of the cane was a single long blade, cut in a diamond shape, with two cutting edges. She could see how narrow the edges were, thin lines that couldn't have been larger than a hair.

It was so unique and strange that she barely questioned it coming from the messengers. She was getting used to this sort of thing from them.

What did that say about her?

She tried not to think about it.

Instead, she took the cane by its grip, relieving the messengers of their burden. It felt comfortable, the grip fashioned for her hand in the same way that everything else fit her, and was surprising light, made with a skill she didn't know. She looked it over, once and then again, before turning to the messengers, their forms still with attention.

"You heard me. Thank you."

They swayed with glee before disappearing back through their distortion, the roof turning back to normal.

She tried really hard not to think about what just happened and how those things had 'heard' her when she hadn't even spoken.

Instead, she crawled over to the far ledge, away from the moving horde of monsters, and carefully positioned into a crouch, trying to keep her silhouette low. She gave a few test swings of the caneblade, a couple of horizontal swipes through the air, positioning her hand so that it was most comfortable.

Her brows furrowed as she felt a small switch between her thumb and index finger, something embedded in the swinging handle of the weapon. She gave it a squeeze, applying on light pressure, and was startled as the blade seemed to fall apart, the core coming undone in a spool that settled at her feet.

Taylor briefly paniced, thinking that she had somehow broken the weapon, before realizing that it was more than just a simple caneblade. The blade had come undone in a pattern, shards of the edges all connected to a single wire that seemed to run through the core of the weapon, turning the blade edge into a flurrying of sharp shards. Flipping the switch returned the weapon to its previous state, leaving her somewhat bewildered by what she was holding.

A few swings confirmed that the caneblade was more than it seemed, just like everything else that came from the workshop. It was a sword edge, capable of parrying a foe's weapon and running him through, and it was a whip, the blade able to separate into a flurry of threaded shards that could rend and tear. She smiled as she retracted the weapon, feeling an ease come over her.

She had a weapon, something to even the odds. She could do this. She could stop them.

She had too.

A roar, the sound echoing across the neighborhood, shook her from her thoughts, following quickly by burst of red and orange fire that cut into the night sky.

She wasted little time, rushing over to the roof edge where she had last seen the gang, and vaulted over.

Lisa ran for her life.

Shouts garbled in a language she couldn't understand echoed just behind her as she ran down the alley. She jumped a turned over dumpster, a blur of purple and black, her boots nearly catching on an open lid, and tipped over a trash can as she rushed by, desperate to stall her pursuers.

Everything had gone so wrong, so fast. This was supposed to be a simple job, a small hit on a local casino. It was safe, easy, and fast. Her team had gotten in and out in five minutes, good cheer and spirits abound.

Then Oni Lee had attacked, forcing them to decide between their loot and their lives. She had seen what he was doing, corralling them further into the Docks, forcing them to move with explosives and bombs, keeping them on the off foot and entirely reactionary.

She turned on her heel as she hit the street at the end of the alley, bolting down a sidewalk that looked in disrepair. She could see figures in the distance, several men in red and green clothing near a street lamp.

Her head throbbed as her power activated.

Probable trap. Pursuing elements are meant to isolate and contain. Separation from the group is a mission objective. Fear of power. Fear of knowledge.

She cursed as she swung down another alley just as the men began to run toward her, joining in the mob steadily gaining on her. She forced her breath to stay steady, pushing through sudden hitches and a burning in her side.

Damn it. They had been split up, separated from each other sometime during the fight with the teleporter. Grue had taken Regent for some ill conceived plan to divert the bomber's attention, and Bitch had been lost sometime after the gang had come into play.

Lung was here, she knew it. Oni Lee's presence all but confirmed it. Where the teleporter was, the dragon was close behind.

Or, in this case, ahead. They were being taken apart and funneled into the fight, disorientated and probably wounded. Easy picking for someone with the experience that Lung had.

She turned left upon exiting the alley, running down a stretch of road between buildings, tipping over another trash can, its contents spilling over the concrete.

A gunshot rang out in response, a small puff of brickwork only feet away, startling Lisa as she continued.

Fear tactic. Goal is to drive target forward. Possible fatigue setting in. Possible rogue element wanting glory.

She hung a left into another alley, skipping just over a set of steps.

She let out a small grin, some amusement she really didn't feel. They were probably getting tired of running in circles. Ha, take that Bitch! She knew it had been a good idea to memorize street layouts.

Her small cheer stopped half way down the alley when she saw five men enter from the far entrance, blocking her exit.

She skidded to a stop, looking back to confirm that, yes, the rest were still following her and closing fast.

Fuck. Options?

Unlikely pursuing elements will negotiate. Capture possible. Torture possible.

She cursed again as they drew closer. Better options!?

One against approximately fifteen. Primary weapons are cutting and blunt based. Unknown firearms available. Unlikely to incapacitate all assailants. Force will be responded by force.

She growled in irritation, her power continuing to point out just how many ways she was screwed. She could feel the pistol, hidden in a holster at the small of her back, weighing heavily.

She could use it. Take as many as she could with. It was a small alley, only a couple of yards wide, so aiming shouldn't be a big deal.

She had ten rounds. She couldn't see the gunman from here, but she could take out the five in front of her, maybe make a break for it. Her costume wasn't armored enough to take bullets, so any shot could be lethal, not to mention the lack of cover in the immediate vicinity.

Still, there was another way out. She was the one with the gun, after all.

Lisa grimaced, silently hoping that it wouldn't come to that.

The two groups approached, stopping only five feet away, forcing Lisa against a brick wall that had seen better days. Two men from either side stepped forward, one younger and one older, and greeted each other, saying things that she didn't understand.

Working out details of operation. Congratulating younger subordinate for a successful capture. Intends to deliver hostage to boss after operation is completed. Unknown intention during the interim.

Lisa felt her blood run cold. She could read in between the lines.

After a few moments the older man returned to his side, pulling out a cell phone. The younger man turned, gave out a series of orders to his larger group, and finally stepped her way, hand reached forward to grab her.

His hand never made it.

Instead, a dark blur swooped down from above, a glint of steel flashed, and blood began spraying, catching Lisa on her right arm.

Before her was a figure, only slightly shorter than herself, covered in dark cloth and leather. A long coat hung down to a pair of shins covered by boots and greaves. Gloves, armored in the same pattern, met more of the same dark cloth to cover the arms. A cap, made with some kind of weird bird design, met with a dark cloth that held tight to the face of the girl, made clear by the long tail of curly dark hair.

In an outstretched right hand was some kind of caneblade, an edge honed to a sharpness that she had never seen, blood dripping from just near the bottom.

Lisa briefly heard the small thump of the hand hitting the ground before she remembered to breath.

That seemed to be a cue, the girl shifting her weight back and performing a swift kick, catching the still reeling man square in the abdomen. He flew back off his feet, faster that he should have given how thin she was, slamming into the far wall, a loud cracking sound rolling down the alley. As he fell she registered how the wall had been damaged from the force of the impact, a web of cracks and a small indent, and how the man's back was not supposed to bend that way.

A shout of alarm sounded as the gang members began to respond, the older man having discarded his phone for a pistol, the barrel turning their way.

The cane flashed faster than she could track, a streak of metal arcing through the air, wicked blades unveiled like a whip. In an instant the streak passed through the man's arm, cutting through flesh and cheap clothing with absurd ease, removing the limb at just below his elbow, viscera spraying as the weapon began to retract.

Her head burned as her power fed her information.

Cape based around brutal tactics. Take no prisoner mentality. Weapon exceptionally dangerous. Unknown design. Possible self made. Mechanical in nature. Enhanced strength with possible preternatural sense. Possibly unstable. Probably new cape.

Her mind whirled at the information as the fighting began, her presence forgotten in the wake of the monster who had just dropped in. The cape had excellent situational awareness, moving with a clarity that kept the others off foot, punishing them with brutal slashes and rending strikes. A gunman, probably the one from earlier, drew a bead on the girl, firing just as she incapacitated one thug, his body crumpling from a swift kick that destroyed his left knee.

She moved so fast, faster than anything Lisa had seen. In an instant she had jumped to the right, lashing out with her whip cane, removing the offending limb from its owner.

After several seconds a general retreat was called, the force breaking and running back the way she had come, fleeing from the merciless cape before them. One made it a few steps before a thrown brick impacted his shoulder, the internal structure collapsing, sending him to the ground with a cry.

Lisa looked around, eyes wide behind her domino mask. There was blood everywhere, dripping from the sides of walls and pooling underneath bodies. Most were alive, their groans and shaking showing their continued existence, while others lay still, those missing limbs who had been the victims of the caneblade. Moans that begged, cried for help, her power supplied, echoed through the alley, their pain so very clear.

It was gruesome, brutal, and nothing she had ever see.

It had taken less than twenty seconds.

She promptly turned and vomited, adding her fluids to the growing pool. Even as she was leaning against the wall, her body rebelling against itself, her power was still going, still providing her with information.

Cape allowed others to escape. Reinforcements unlikely. Forces will regroup before returning to collect the casualties. Injuries favor crippling strikes, the exception based around if casualty had lethal weapon.

Lisa spat out the last of what had to be her lunch, her head rolling in waves of pain. She needed to stop, to give her power a break, before she hurt herself.

But she couldn't, not with the new cape around. A cape entirely willing to maim on a whim with a weapon sharper than most professional cutlery. A cape who had saved her for seemingly no reason.

She would need every ounce of wit her power could give her.

She recovered a couple of minutes later, moving forward to the end of the alley, the exit she had originally meant to go. She couldn't be in that space anymore, surrounded by so much blood and gore. Her costume, a skintight suit of purple and black with a stylized eye, was already half covered in the stuff.

She turned back to the alley when she heard a sound. The cape was looking over some of the bodies, seeming to check on who was alive and who wasn't. She was moving between them, tilting some and shifting others, moving on after only a few seconds each time. If Lisa was half covered, then the cape was drenched in blood, having been in the middle of the fight, a flurry of flashing steel and bone shattering kicks. Her costume seemed to be somewhat water resistant, the blood giving off a sheen as it ran down the clothes, the coat dripping a small trail in its wake.

It was enough to make her sick had she anything left.

Unknown motive. Unclear intent behind examining casualties. Unsure what cape is looking for.

Lisa couldn't help it.

"What are you doing?", she blurted out.

The cape, kneeling by a fallen ABB member, one that was favoring his left leg, slowly turned to look at Lisa, green eyes flashing underneath the pointed cap. A moment passed and the cape turned back, seemingly satisfied with her finding, moving off the man and headed down the alley. Her cane was hooked against her pants belt, hanging just off her right side underneath the coat. She stepped over a pair of still bodies, boots clicking as they lightly splashed the pool of blood growing beneath them.

"Beasts, all over the city."

A girl's voice, which couldn't have been older than her, reached Lisa's ears. The cape continued to march forward, seeming to care little for how she looked like something out of a horror film. She stopped next to Lisa, arms loose and low, and gave her a once over, eyes trailing over the girl's body.

Parahuman status is noted. Presence of costume is important. Differentiates self from the casualties.

The girl sighed, a tired sound.

"You'll be one of them, sooner or later."

Lisa didn't know how to respond to that. Didn't know if she even could respond to that.

A moment passed before the cape continued, "Who are you? Your clearly not with the ABB."

Lisa blinked, her brain restarting. Right, she should probably say something.

"I'm Tattletale. My team and I were ambushed by Oni Lee earlier. We've been split up since then."

The cape hummed before looking back at the gore behind them. She then shrugged, something decided, and started off down the road, boots lightly clicking on the sidewalk.

Lisa followed, unwilling to let such a dangerous cape off on her own. Said cape began speaking glancing at her as she caught up.

"I haven't run into any other Parahumans other than yourself. Are you all new? I don't remember hearing about a team operating on this side of the Docks."

Cape assumes Undersiders are a hero team. Cape assumes Tattletale is cooperative.

Her thoughts raced. Mentally she weighed her options. Lying to the clearly dangerous cape and being found out would probably end of badly. That said, she had just literally taken apart several affiliated gang members without hesitation. The choice was pretty simple after that.

"Yeah, we just formed. We've been out a few times but this is the first time trouble really hit back."

The girl nodded, taking in Tattletale's words without question.

Lisa continued, emboldened by the response of the probable hero, "So, about those guys..."

The cape seemed to bristle at that, eyes narrowing as she responded, "What? They were beasts, preying on whoever they could."

Lisa wasn't sure how she could respond to that, so she ignored it entirely.

"Some of them are probably dead, you know."

The cape stopped, hands clenching with eyes shut.

Cape feels guilty. Has no desire to kill. Extreme action merits equally extreme reaction.

The cape opened her eyes, her voice quite in the cold night air, "I overheard Lung order them to go out and kill some children. They were beasts, but that's a level I never expected them to go. I will not tolerate monsters like that in this city. People should not have to fear for safety of their children."

Attacking children unlikely. Low chance Lung would risk kill order. 'Children' probable used in demeaning the true target. Only clear target of ABB are Undersiders. Undersiders are likely 'children'.

She had spent a lot of time learning how to keep a straight face. With her power allowing her answers with even the slightest glimpse, it became paramount that she knew how to mask her emotions.

This was a skill that made her both exceptionally capable at handling negotiations and a devil at a poker table.

Lisa nodded, looking away slightly, before responding, "Shit, I had no idea."

There was a quiet, a mutual understanding of the terrible ramifications of that revelation, before she continued, her voice empowered and just a little pleading, "Look, my team wandered into this operation and we were attacked. Lung will probably come after us for interrupting his show, which is not a fight we're ready to deal with. I know I'm asking for a lot here, but will you help me save them?"

The cape seemed to take her in for a moment, a slight breeze teasing at her brown curls and Lisa's dark blonde locks. Finally she nodded, starting their walk forward anew.

Lisa forced a grin into a friendly smile as she thanked the girl.

Maybe they would live through this yet.

It wasn't hard to catch up to Lung.

Really, all they had to do was get on a roof and follow the burning path of ruined buildings. Simple really.

Convincing the new cape to not rush ahead with her enhanced speed...not so simple.

Lisa, with the help of her insightful power, was quickly coming to an uncomfortable conclusion.

The girl was insane, or at least somewhat touched in the head. She was also very gullible to opening up when prompted with soft words and friendly gestures. For all her strength the cape had a lack of social skills that left an opening Lisa couldn't resist.

For the most part she was a new cape, first night out even, that had walked into a bad situation. She was young, sure, but not much younger than Lisa, and pretty clearly new to the whole hero/villain game. That said, the cape had done her research, able to cite the extent of Lung's power set from several sources.

Which told Lisa that she was someone who was intelligent, bookish even, but wasn't thinking about her image as a 'hero', how people would see her. The girl hadn't even picked out a name before coming out, so focused on 'helping' the city.

It was there that Lisa began questioning her ally's sanity. The way the cape would talk about gang members as 'beasts', like they were nothing more than terrible animals, showed a disregard for human life. The girl clearly didn't want to kill, but when push came to shove she was choosing, in her mind, between the life of a human and the life of an animal.

The choice, after that, became simple. Bloody, but simple.

More, the cape believed what she was saying, honestly thought that those people were nothing more than just wild animals attacking a virtually helpless young woman. The girl believed she was doing the city a favor by dealing with them, leaving whatever remained for others to clean up.

Lisa tried not to think about what the cape had meant by she becoming a beast at some point. Maybe some kind of statement, a word of warning? Was she aware of her mental degeneration, likely caused by whatever trigger event she had gone through, and was warning that she might see everyone as a beast?

Her head hurt from thinking about it and not in that 'ouch powers' kind of way.

Overall, the cape was a female hero with a fearsome amount of strength, some kind of weapon of unknown origin, and a brutal mentality that left nothing in the gray. She had little to no understanding about how cape politics worked, how the villain gangs let live with the hero groups, and probably wouldn't care if she found out, her conviction so strong. This was a girl that could cause some major waves in Brockton Bay if left alone, someone who 'hunted' with so little mercy and so much violence.

The villains would never leave that alone. Her actions would disrupt things, cause problems for the calm between the gangs. The heroes wouldn't be able to ignore her leaving broken bodies in her wake, no matter the 'good' it did the city. Her presence would be a public relations nightmare if anyone began to side with her, to actively fight against the villain gangs with no restraint, promoting a civil war that would envelop the city.

Lisa decided then that she could not, in good conscience, allow this girl out of her sight. It also really didn't hurt that she was basically a magic bullet to be aimed at any villain in the city.

Which came back to the original problem of keeping up with the cape. Her legs burned as they ran, her side twisting from the strain of the night's activities. The cape, for her part, was calm, breath controlled as her long strides carried her.

Probably a runner or something. So unfair.

After a few minutes another burst of flame pierced the night sky, a bloom of red and orange that couldn't have been more than a hundred yards away.

Warehouse located in the vicinity of fire. Possible location of fight. Probable attempt to contain within small space.

Lisa turned down an alley, instructing for the cape to follow, directing their run along the fastest route to the warehouse.

A couple of roars, the howl of some great dog and the guttural echo of something else entirely, passed through the streets, driving the girls forward.

Tattletale frowned. They were causing too much attention. The Protectorate had to be on the way. Probably waiting to get what they needed to fight Lung at his best. They only had minutes, at best.

She had to get the team, and this rogue cape, out before anything else went wrong.

A minute later they exited an alley into a street near the warehouse, smoke and fire choking the roadway as a buildings burned. A trail of ruined structures lined the street, buildings with chucks of concrete torn away, as if by some great beast, and many more set ablaze. Down the lane she saw the warehouse, looking no better than any other structure nearby, the sounds of some great conflict emanating from within.

She saw the cape move forward, determined to join the fray, and grabbed the girl's shoulder, her hand running slick from blood that just wouldn't seem to dry.

It was something that she didn't want to think about.

"Wait! We need have a plan! Your strong but Lung has had time to amp up!"

The brunette stalled, her hands clenching, muscles twitching under Tattletale's fingers. She was struggling to hold herself back, some kind of compulsion driving her forward to face the threat. After a few seconds the girl calmed, half turning to Lisa, her voice sounding strained.

"He's a beast. He needs to be dealt with. What's your plan?"

Lisa knew she had only precious seconds to convince the mentally struggling heroine. She thought fast and spoke quickly, "Alright, my team has to be around her somewhere. Bitch is probably stalling Lung with her dogs, but that won't work forever. If we can find the others we can link up, stall him, and get out of here. We'll hot wire a car or something to escape."

She only believed about half of what she said, knowing that Bitch wouldn't leave her dogs behind no matter the cost. Grue's too stubborn to leave a man behind, so they would have to find a way to get everyone out, a near impossible challenge given the scenario.

Her skull throbbed as she pushed her power, running through simulations and conclusions, searching for an answer that would keep everyone alive.

A loud crash, the sound of crumbing stone and tearing metal, broke her thoughts. The girls turned to the sound and beheld something truly monstrous.

Two somethings, in fact. One was clearly some kind of dog, though it looked like something from hell. Nearly the size of two vans, it had a body rippling with muscles under a layer of thick hide, black fur burned in various places. Large spurs of bone erupted from its body at seemingly random points, claws elongated into talons. Its eyes were blood red, a mouth filled with teeth jagged a sharp, ears pointed slightly to the rear, spines running around its neck like a collar. It was a monster, something told in tales of heroes going on great quests.

The dog beast had its maw clamped around the long, sinewy neck of something that was...inhuman. There wasn't really any other way to describe what she saw. It was large, maybe twice as big as the dog, stood on two legs, bent in an animalistic fashion, and was covered in scales that gleamed like metal, patches of fleshy skin dotting the creature. Its arms, if you could still call them that, ended in two human like appendages tipped with wicked looking talons, easily large enough to cleave a man in two. Its body was barreled out, thick muscles sliding underneath scales, displaying the power of the creature to any who should observe. A long neck, something easily approaching a car length, was twisting and writhing, desperate to get the dog monster loose.

Atop the neck of the inhuman creature was a face, not unlike that of a man, but so heavily mutated that it really didn't matter. One side was minimally changed, metallic scales and what was clearly some kind of snout forming, while the other was unrecognizable, a jaw bisected vertically and horns growing from a too stretched face.

Both creatures tumbled through what had been a wall to the warehouse, now a smoldering ruin, landing on the street, fighting and grappling, each roaring with supremacy.

Lung, the dragon, was going all out, and it terrified Lisa.

How were they supposed to stall that!? He was already almost half as big as the surrounding buildings and she knew he could get bigger. He earned his reputation through fighting an Endbringer, a being of horrific destruction that could raze cites and flood countries, to a fucking standstill. His growth potential seemed limitless, making any strategy against him forced to end the fight early, not letting him 'power up'.

He was almost two stories tall now and looked more dragon that man. There was no stopping him. Bitch, when she focused entirely on one dog, could make something truly monstrous, but it was going to only work for so long. She could already see how the claws and fire were taking their toll on the animal, its skin and fur burning faster than any passive regeneration it had could compensate.

This was a loosing battle, her power all but confirming. They needed to get out, now, sacrifice what they needed in order to survive, if they even could.

Lisa felt a pair of hands grip her shoulders and roughly pull her, a dark form with piercing green eyes taking up her view. She heard the girl speak through the constant noise of the battle, their bodies close enough to almost touch.

"Find your team. Get them out of here. Be a hero that helps, not a beast that harms."

The cape gave her a shove, something light enough to only just throw her off balance. By the time she had gotten a grip over herself the cape was running forward, caneblade held aloft, rushing to fight.

It took Lisa only a moment to realize a grave fact: the girl was going to die. She hadn't needed a know it all power to realize how screwed they were. Nobody was getting away unless something could detract Lung, could hold him off long enough.

The girl was throwing her life away to save a villain she thought a hero, and it made Lisa sick.

An explosion of fire erupted from Lung, a bubble of flames expanding outward, setting buildings aflame and exploding glass. The dog released and rolled off, a loud whining emanating from its maw as it rolled to try to put out the flames, its pain clear. Lung rolled and stood, his neck wounds oozing from the attack, the blood disintegrating under the heat. A great swing of his right claw tore a furrow though the wounded dog thing, its form quivering under the strain as it was thrown several feet away. The dragon man roared, the other half of his face cracking as his jaw finished separating into an X shaped maw.

He was a monster. An extreme action that merited an equally extreme reaction.

The cape rushed over the fallen dog, its form starting to morph and warp as if it was shedding its skin, her whip cane flashing in the fire light.

The weapon tore its way through the metallic scales, slicing a deep cut along his right thigh, blood pouring from the wound.

The dragon roared, his head turning as he eyed up his next opponent.

Lisa took that chance to move, running to the warehouse, eyes peeled for her team while she kept half a mind on the fight. Her feet were swift, carrying her half way to the burning structure as the fight began, the cape moving with deft speed as she avoided the dragon's claws, her cane weapon slashing into the outstretched limbs as they passed by. For a moment it almost looked like she was dancing around Lung's clumsy swings, her body twisting and moving with an agility that outstripped her opponent completely.

Of course, strength and claws weren't the only thing to worry about.

A burst of flame spewed out from a clawed appendage as it slammed into the street, the pavement buckling under the force. The fire spread quickly, catching the fast moving cape before she could react, the flames washing over her form.

In an instant she was moving, her outfit smoking but not burnt, her body rushing toward the appendage in a sudden dash. Her cane blade flashed and carved into his wrist, rending the scales and flesh alike. She continued this sudden assault, a complete one eighty from the her previous tactics, bringing her strength and blade to bear against the dragon man. More wounds were opened as he recoiled from the attack, blood drenching the cape and the surrounding area.

Lisa kept moving, trying to ignore how Lung's roars were getting more guttural as the seconds ticked by.

She reached the warehouse opening just as another wave of fire was released, this time stronger, buffeting her with hot air, eyes watering from the heat. She coughed, the smoke choking, and called out, "Is anyone in there!? Grue!? Bitch!? Are you alive!?"

Seconds passed by as she waited, her coughs steadily getting worse as the smoke grew denser. A chill ran down her back as she considered the possibility of their deaths. Besides being decent people, in her opinion, they were somewhat trustworthy allies, something she sorely lacked. Her worry began to rise, her mind running through scenarios of what she would do should the worst come to pass.

"No worries for me, huh? I see how it is."

The sudden voice, a male's, was followed quickly by Regent stepping through the smoke, surrounded by some kind of cloak of darkness, an inky blackness that defied logic. His costume had seen better days, the Renaissance styled clothes burned and torn, his left sleeve entirely missing. His mask, fashioned in the model of a Venetian mask, was black with soot, as was his body.

Slumped against his right shoulder was Grue, aided along by their lanky teammate. His mask, a motorcycle helmet with a face plate fashioned in the visage of a skull, was bent, warped by the heat, and had a large gouge torn across one side, a trail of blood leaking from the opening. The black motorcycle leathers than made up his costume were cracked, burned from an intense heat.

She stepped back, allowing the two guys to exit the ruined structure. They were quickly followed by a muscular girl wearing a heavy coat, boots, and a pair of large dogs by her legs. Her clothes were burnt, her jacket missing its back, revealing a nasty burn that rested to her bottom right, the skin warped and peeling. She had a hand raised to her square face, her short auburn hair looking even shorter than it had before their intrepid night began.

Lisa blinked, Bitch's exposed face sending alarms throughout her mind. She approached the other girl as she settled in with the other two, just out of reach of the flames and smoke.

"Shit, what happened to your mask?"

Said girl grunted as she stopped, her stance favoring her left leg, and responded, "Fire melted it."

Regent spoke up, the shroud of darkness dissipated, "Grue's not doing too good here. You got any ideas?"

Tattletale opened her mouth to speak, to suggest one of her half-baked plans she had been working on, when a roar, deep and loud, erupted nearby.

She turned, along with the group, witnessing the carnage transpiring nearby.

Lung, now easily two stories tall, looked far worse that she had seen him last. Numerous cuts and slashes lined his body, from his legs to one clever gash along his neck. They were healing quickly, visible sealing themselves as the seconds passed, but there were so many, and so much blood.

Blood that seemed to cover the street, dried and crusted from the constant fire he was pouring out. Blood that covered the form of the cape, standing just off to the side, her outfit smoking. Her caneblade was held in her left hand, a clearly unfamiliar position for considering how much she was shifting it. Her right arm was hanging limp at her side, terrible puncture marks lining the limb from wrist to shoulder, like the teeth of a great beast.

The dragon lunged forward, claws looking to rake the ground while the head surged in. The cape, to her credit, didn't hesitate, instead charging forward, diving just under the snapping jaws. She leaped ahead again, putting distance between her and the claws. Swinging her whip cane she lashed the dragon's legs, cutting into tendons and tissue, forcing his right leg to buckle, bringing his abdomen to her level.

And everybody knows that the soft underbelly was a dragon's least protected spot.

The cape jumped forward, dropping the cane and landing on her left foot, throwing her momentum into a left strike, hand clawed out not unlike her adversary's. The metallic scales had no defense against such force, her arm plunging into the belly of the beast with ease, driving as far deep as her bicep.

There was no response from Lung, no roar of pain or flare of fire. He was never given the chance.

The girl twisted, stepping forward with the other foot, giving her the leverage she would need. In a great act she pulled to the right, her arm ripping across the flesh through brute force, blood pouring out from the grave wound. Lung's body was shoved back a couple of feet, causing the dragon to topple, a cry in pain echoing out. The cape stepped back, a piece of intestine trailing with her, and turned in the direction of Lisa. She raised her good arm, pointing just down the street, watching the girl and her team.

Lisa followed the hand and saw a truck parked not a hundred feet away.

She looked back to the cape, eyes wide as she understood.

The girl nodded in her direction and seemed to gather herself as Lung recovered, moving to pick up her caneblade.

"Well, she's intense, isn't she?"

Lisa whirled, turning back to her team. Regent was openly staring at the cape, eyes wide as he took in the carnage surrounding the fight. Rachel was off digging her dog out of the pile of fur and bone it had shed as it reverted, her others dogs shying away from the combatants.

Tattletale spoke, her eyes darting between all parties, "There is a truck just up the road, next to the laundromat. Take Grue and get it started. I'll get Bitch and meet you there."

Regent tilted his head toward the fight, eyes on the dragon as it rolled to one side, its wounds sealing with remarkable speed.

"What about the cape?"

Lisa felt something clench in her chest, a shot of guilt running through her. That girl didn't deserve to die helping people like them.

"She's stalling him for us. We have to go."

But it was the only way anyone would survive.

Lisa left Regent to his work, already up with their wounded teammate and heading to the truck. She hurried over to Bitch, arriving just as she finished digging her dog out, a large rottweiler that was whining, joining its pack away from the fight. It took only seconds to explain the plan, Rachel giving a single nod and a sharp whistle, focusing her dogs. The two skirted the edge of the bloody and burnt battlefield, heading to the far side of the street with less burning and smoke, watching as the dragon began to resume its attack.

To his credit Lung was nothing short of a monster when he got going, capable of shrugging off mortal wounds like paper cuts. His belly was completely healed, as were most of the lashes, his metallic scales shining like new. He had grown larger, towering over the cape at two and half stories, his back rippling in an undulating pattern, muscles twisting into something that didn't belong.

The cape, on the other hand, was standing a ways back, sprinting to the side and further down the street, away from Lisa. Her wounded arm still hung limply at her side, blood running down the limb. Her dashing was getting worse, interrupted by a limp that was beginning to develop from the right leg. She was still covered in the viscera of the dragon, a dark red that gleamed, a display of her accomplishment against such a creature.

It didn't matter. Her greatest strength, her speed, was waning. She was getting slower as the fight drug on, her wounds pilling up, while Lung got stronger, his injuries almost gone now.

It wouldn't be long now.

Lisa tried not to think about it as Lung let our a roar, charging his opponent, fire flaring into being like a cloak from hell.

It took a full minute to reach the truck, one of the longest minutes of her life. She couldn't help but look back every now and then, watching as the cape barely dodged swipes that crushed cars and cracked open the pavement, retaliating with strikes that healed within seconds.

Lung was unreal. How could anyone actually beat him? How strong could he really get?

Regent called out to her from the drivers side, the engine of the pickup roaring to life, telling her to 'get in or get left'. Directing Rachel to the front in an effort to hide her identity, she jumped into the back with the dogs, settling in along with Grue, his body slumped against the cabin window. She felt the truck pull away, wheels squealing as the vehicle lurched forward suddenly.

Lisa took a second to recover and calm her breath before looking back at the fight.

Lung had grown wings, bat like appendages lined with silvery scales. The webbing was a dark red, something akin to crimson, with a wingspan approaching the width of the road. They twitched, new muscles groups resetting against an expanding nervous system, and were growing, much like his form had throughout the fight.

He let out a blast of fire, greenish blue flames radiating outward from his massive form, causing horrific damage to the area, melting cars and brick like candle wax. The cape dived forward, threading through some perceived opening within the flames, landing on her bad leg, her body dropping to a knee but only for a moment.

It was all Lung needed.

His head lunged forward, powerful muscles, inhuman in nature, propelling the attacking limb. His aim was true, the cape responding too late to his sudden movement, jaws clamping down over her body with a sickening crunch. With a quick twist he threw the girl, her body soaring high through the air. She landed maybe a fifty feet behind the truck, her body rolling, her weapon lost in the flight, covered horrible puncher marks that tore through her tough clothing like it wasn't even there. She rolled several times, hair long burned away by the flames, finally coming to a rest on her side, her body splayed against the ground.

She did not get up.

Tattletale turned away from the sight, not wanting to see Lung confirm his victory. Not wanting to see the horror of what she had just witnessed any longer. A girl, younger than herself, had given her life away because she wanted to be a hero, without really caring who was involved or why.

It was one of the most heroic things Lisa had ever seen.


	16. Metamorphosis 16

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

She awoke in a field of white flowers.

Taylor's breath caught as she jumped to her feet, her cane sweeping out in a semi practiced move, a thread of shards whistling through the air.

She turned, rotating in place, searching for the beast, desperate to find him. She had to keep its attention, no matter the cost. If she didn't then Tattletale and her team were dead, plain and simple. She had known that when the beast had showed himself, known that nobody could have stopped it but her, that it would take hunter skills to bring down such a foe.

She spun in place for half a minute, heart pounding has hot blood raced, her sense alight with anticipation and adrenaline. After a minute she stopped and lowered her guard just enough to take in her surroundings.

She was back in the workshop.

She blinked and then looked around, confirming her surroundings. The workshop lay just over there, not thirty yards away, and the gravestones looked as old as ever. She felt the gentle breeze, teasing her neck and hair, as it carried the sweet scent of the flowers.

She reached back with her free hand, grasping tied hair, a bit startled. She remembered it being burned away, the feeling of flames licking her neck. What had happened?

Her brow furrowed as she pondered, relaxing a bit as she hooked her caneblade to her belt. Why was she here again? She hadn't fallen asleep, that much was sure. She was fighting Lung, the dragon beast, stalling for the heroes to escape. He was getting stronger, faster, and so much bigger. His fire burned hotter, cooking her within her outfit. She was fighting, twisting and turning, trying to dodge his strikes despite the pain surging through her leg.

Taylor gasped at the realization.

She had died. Lung had killed her.

The bite, a final blow. It had come swiftly just after her knee had given out.

Lung had killed her and now she was here, back in the field of flowers.

She could feel tears pickle at her eyes, fears she held after she first arrived coming back.

Except this time wasn't the first. No, she had thrown herself against a great foe, a beast beyond measure, and it had killed her for such courage.

She choked back a sob as she brought her hands up, looking at the gauntlets, fresh as new.

What was happening to her? She had felt so angry throughout the fight, wanted nothing more than to strike back at him for every blow she received. Every time he burned her she dashed forward, cutting into him, soothing her wounds by a literal shower of blood.

What was she becoming? Was any of this even real? Were her powers even natural?

They didn't make sense. She shouldn't be able to die and come here. Nobody could escape the end. Nobody. Some cheated, becoming invulnerable or through some trick of time, but when the time came no Parahuman had ever shown a resiliency like she had.

What did that make her? A monster who couldn't die properly?

Her thoughts were bitter as she began walking, headed to the small path that would lead to the front steps of the workshop. Her boots brushed by the white flowers, free of the blood that had covered her only minutes earlier.

Was she hallucinating? Had she even died? Maybe this was all some mad vision, a terrible faux reality, when the real her was laying in some bed in a mental ward. Maybe she was unconscious, laying on the street, her body slowly dying as the dragon closed ever closer.

Maybe this was all just the random firing of her dying brain as she lay rotting in the locker, some kind of distorted vision that she was trapped in.

Taylor was broken from her depressed thoughts by a voice, soft and somber, with an accent that she couldn't quite place

"Oh! Welcome back, young hunter."

She stopped, head snapping up, her main hand twitching to grab the caneblade. Her mind froze, eyes growing wide..

The Doll was standing, arms held demurely in front, at the base of the steps to the workshop. It was tall, taller than Taylor, easily over six feet in height. Her shawl covered her upper arms and hung at thigh, the fabric wafting gently to the breeze. Her white hair hung at the base her her neck, the bonnet covering everything but the front, and her head was tilted slightly, a curious posture. A small smile graced her face, porcelain lips moving as naturally as flesh.

Taylor stood there, arms limp at her sides, as she tried to process what she was seeing. The gentle drift of the wind teased her bound hair, a sweet smell tickling her nose.

She had gone insane. Must have. There wasn't any other explanation that made sense. The locker had driven her out of her mind. She was probably lying in the street, bleeding out as Lung crept ever closer, readying himself for the final blow.

Or was that even real? Maybe she was still in the locker, trapped, screaming for help that would never come.

The Doll's expression grew slightly worried, eyes slightly widening as a small frown grew, "Oh dear, are you unwell, young hunter?"

Taylor stared at the thing before her, a stark realization coming over her, encompassing, like a wave over rocks. It all made sense. The detail of the body. The high quality clothes. The realistic materials, like the hair.

Taylor couldn't help but choke, a sound between a sob and a cry, as she remembered the workshop's one constant.

Nothing was ever as it seemed.

The Doll was alive. It had always been alive.

It had been here when she arrived.

Her voice was quiet, tainted with an emotion that she couldn't quite identify, somewhere between sorrow and madness, as she spoke, "What are you?"

The Doll blinked, her frown growing slightly deeper as eyes grew larger, concern clear on her face.

A face too real. A face too human.

"I am a doll. I am here to look after you, young hunter." She took a step forward, a small thing, gently easing herself in the direction of her charge.

Who stepped back, a fast movement, something born of instinct and fear.

The doll's frown deepened further, her eyes turning sad, "Please, young hunter, do not be afraid. Nothing will harm you here."

Taylor could barely think. This situation was so jarring it had her on a constant mental backstep. To look after her? What did that even mean!?

Her heart clenched as a fear materialized in her mind. Maybe she really had died. She had died, moved on to some kind of limbo place where she could be the hero she always wanted to be.

Was she a guardian angel? Some kind of caretaker for the dead? Did it even matter?

"Young hunter, please, what troubles you so?"

She heard the small clicking of the Doll's boots against the cobblestone, her voice gliding through the air in soft and somber tones.

The thing was getting closer, but Taylor could barely bring herself to care. She was dead. Everything she had done in the past months had been for nothing, hadn't even been real. She would never see her dad again, never see the city she so fought for.

Never hold her mother's box again.

Tears dribbled down her face, pouring from her eyes and falling past her mask. She reached up and pulled the cloth down as she began to sob, her cap tumbling away to the ground.

She was trapped here, forever, in a graveyard, a testament to her sorrow.

Hands wrapped around her, pulling her into a gentle warm hug, her vision filled with a black cloth. She glanced upward, tear filled eyes locking onto the pale eyes of the Doll.

"Shhh. It's alright, young hunter. I am here for you."

Taylor openly cried as she buried herself in the embrace. Tears for everything she had lost. Tears for everything she had endured.

Tears for the life that was gone, forever.

Taylor sat in a chair by the fire, exhausted and emotionally drained.

She didn't know when the crying had subsided, didn't really care. She couldn't help herself. Couldn't hold it in. The pain, the regret, the sorrow. It was all too much, too great a weight to hold. She had years of sorrow to get out, a sea of tears to pour, and she hadn't stopped till it was over.

It had been cathartic, a release from so much pressure and pain. When it was over she had almost forgotten where she was and whom she was clinging to.

Almost.

The Doll had gently led her inside, setting her on a chair by the softly burning fireplace, leaving her forgotten hat and caneblade on the nearby desk. The Doll had then left her with a promise that she would return, off to get her something to help.

Taylor tried not to think about that. About whom or what the Doll really was. About what could 'help' someone like her. About how nothing made sense anymore.

By the time the Doll returned Taylor was slumped over, hands to her eyes, shaking from quiet sobs she tried to stifle. A gentle touch brought her attention back, large wide eyes looking up. The Doll knelt in front of Taylor, a sympathetic expression upon her face. She reached out with one hand, the segmented joints moving without strain or sound, as if it were something closer to flesh. Gently, she took one of Taylor's hands, wet with tears that had began anew, and brought it forward between the two. With her other hand the Doll settled something light and cylindrical in Taylor's, speaking in quiet tones.

"This will help you relax, young hunter."

Taylor withdrew her hand, eyeing the Doll with a weariness. She looked down and saw a small glass bottle, a paper label so old it was brown, what text it had worn away with time. Within the bottle was some kind of brownish liquid, slightly transparent, swirling with a strange consistency.

She looked up at the Doll, searching eyes ringed by puffy redness. She was lost, like a boat without its sail on a wide ocean. How could she trust anything anymore? Did she even want to?

What did it matter when she was already dead?

Forming tears caused the Doll to react, her voice a quiet plea, "Young hunter, please drink. It is nothing that will hurt you. You must be calm."

Taylor blinked through the tears and looked back at the bottle in her hand. It was so small, just a little glass medicine bottle she would expect to see at antique shops. It looked relatively harmless, the fluid slightly viscus as it rolled back and forth.

She'd learned her lesson about the workshop. Looks didn't mean anything.

Still, what else could go wrong for her?

She brought the bottle up, gripping it with both hands, and pulled the stopper. She brought it to her nose and inhaled, examining the aroma of the concoction.

She flinched back at the intense coppery smell, instantly recognizing the foul stench.

It was blood. The Doll had tried to feed her a bottle of blood.

Taylor shot to her feet, backpedaling a few steps away, eyes never leaving the confused looking Doll. Her voice, raw from the emotional roller coaster she'd been riding, screeching as she shouted.

"What is this!? What's with the blood!? What is any of this!?"

The Doll stood, hands folded in front, her sympathetic look never wavering, "It is medicine, young hunter. It will calm you in times a great distress. Please, drink it, so that you may be well again."

Taylor looked between the Doll and the bottle, rapidly coming to a firm conclusion.

Fuck. That.

The sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the workshop, interrupting the soft crackling of the fireplace. Taylor withdrew her arm, letting it fall to her side, eyeing the disappointed look that had come over the Doll. Her life was out of control, upside down, and all kinds of inside out. She might be dead or insane, she might have emotions that were just inches from spinning further out of focus, and she might be more than a little irrational now.

But she would be damned before she started drinking blood.

Her sorrow melted as anger rose to the fore, taking up the center of her spiraling emotions, like the eye of the great maelstrom. Time for some answers.

Her voice was low, bent from frustration and rage, "You are going to answer my questions."

The Doll tilted her head slightly, her expression changing to one of slight curiosity, "Certainly, young hunter."

Taylor considered her problems, the myriad of concerns that had been raised since her powers had formed, and started with the obvious.

"Where am I?"

The Doll blinked and straightened her head before responding, "You are within a dream, young hunter. It is a place of respite, a home for you to rest your worn form."

Taylor didn't know what to say to that, beginning to think some truth to the 'I've gone insane' theory. A dream? This was all a dream? How did that even begin to make sense!? She had spent months at home, working on becoming a hero, steadily ignoring or evading her tormentors, and trying to spend more time with her dad. Could her mind fabricate all of that?

That led her to an uncomfortable realization: what if the workshop world was a dream?

It made sense, when she considered it. When she slept she came here, awake as if nothing had really happened. Likewise, when she returned it was often at or nearby where she fell asleep at. Maybe she thrashed around when she was unconscious? She always awoke in the field of flowers, even though she would usually nap in her chair or lay outside.

She didn't dream anymore. She couldn't. Instead, had her powers given her some kind of perpetual lucid dream? Something that would stay fixed for her so she could come back to?

It made sense. The pieces fit together, all but one. She desperately wanted it to fit, to have some kind reasonable explanation for what was happening to her. But it was all for naught as she was forced to consider the snag in her theory.

She had awoken outside of the locker.

It had been locked, something she had failed to force even after a an hour of trying. How could her unconscious body have a hope in that situation.

She needed more answers.

"What do you mean by 'dream'?"

The Doll regarded her for a moment, an unreadable look on her face. A stifling stillness filled the room, choking and encompassing. Taylor felt like she had to gag, as if she couldn't breath. She felt a heaviness fall over her body, like a dozen quilts thrown over a person, pressing down on her from all sides, forcing her down. She tried to move, shrug her shoulders or twist her neck, anything to dismiss the feeling, but she couldn't, weighed down something she couldn't grasp.

She blinked and the feeling was gone, as if it was never there, the soft crackling of the fire and sweet wind filling the area, a calm peace that had never left. The Doll was watching her, sad eyes filled with sympathy.

Taylor swallowed hard, trying not to think about it, watching the Doll with trepidation.

After a few seconds the Doll spoke, her unfamiliar accent carrying across the workshop, "This dream is very old, young hunter. Over time, countless hunters have visited this dream. The graves here stand in their memory. It is a place set apart from the waking world, meant only for those who hunt beasts."

Taylor stared, trying to comprehend what she had heard. There really had been others. She had begun to wonder, after a time. Weeks of visiting the workshop without seeing anyone had left her convinced that nobody else could access it, that the books were left for her with some strange intent by her power.

There had been others who had come and gone, leaving their slight mark as they made their way through. She wasn't alone, at least not in spirit. She wasn't even the first. They absence did bring up an important question though: what had happened to them?

She didn't realize she had voiced that query until the Doll had responded with an chilling answer.

"Why, they stopped dreaming, of course."

And what did THAT ominous answer even mean?

Taylor shook her head. She wasn't going to think about that, or all of of things she was learning, if she was being honest. It was too much for her to consider. She had to focus. What were the important things to know concerning herself.

"When you say 'beasts', what do you mean?"

The Doll tilted her head slightly, confusion marring her face, "Do you not have such things, young hunter? They are terrible things, monsters made from men, that destroy and harm all they see. Often, it is the responsibility of the hunters to hunt the beasts. Is it not the same in your waking world?"

Her waking world? Did other Earth's have access to this place? Had anyone from Alph spent some time in the workshop, or any other Earth undiscovered yet?

She tried not to think about it.

Instead, she shook her head, "My home is different. The villains there hurt people but they don't do it enough for the heroes to go after them, to stop them. Instead, everyone suffers."

The Doll's head tilted further, her confusion growing, "I'm sorry, but I do not understand."

Taylor's brow furrowed, considering what to say. Clearly the Doll didn't know about her world, or didn't know about what was going on. Trying to explain it would only confuse her without proper context. She had to make it simple.

Her mood dipped as she considered the truth in her words, that the heroes were really not any better than the villains, willing to sell out the civilians for some kind of peace. It made the words that followed bitter and foul.

"My home is controlled by beasts who manipulate whomever they can. I'm the only hunter there."

The Doll's expression grew sorrowful, sympathetic eyes returning, "Your burden is heavy, young hunter. I now see why you have need of this dream."

Taylor frowned. She still didn't understand what this 'dream' was. Admittedly, she didn't really want to know, as this entire encounter was reaching new heights on her 'don't think about it' scale. Still, she had to know one thing.

"Why happened when I died? Why did I come back here?"

The Doll's expression maintained, her eyes sad. There was a pause, only for a moment, before she responded, "Do you remember dying, young hunter?"

Taylor stared at the Doll, jaw hanging open as she registered the words. She instantly wanted to respond about how inconsiderate it was to ask something like that, but she reigned in that particular spike of rage, thinking about the question posed.

She had no memory beyond her screaming in the locker, banging on the door, crying out for help. One moment she was there, pleading and begging, and the next she was waking in the field.

Her fight with Lung had ended similarly. She had felt the final bite, something that hadn't hurt as much as she thought it should. Her strength had gone after that, body limp in his jaws as he threw her. She could barely remember feeling the hot air on her scalp as she soared, but that was it. After that her thoughts became hazy, like that of an old memory from so long ago.

Her eyes widened as she realized she couldn't remember, that it was faded and gone, like she had woken up.

"No.", she said, her voice quite with fear.

The Doll nodded, watching her young charge, her voice echoing, "Then think of it as nothing more than a bad dream.


	17. Impurity 1

She awoke to the smell of fire and ash.

Taylor sat up, eyes stinging from the heat, and looked around. She was in a small alley between two buildings, not more than three feet wide. It was dirty with trash and hidden away bags, and a heavy layer of gray ash.

She held back a cough, her mask protecting her from the worst of the smoke, and squinted her eyes, trying to keep the heat out. As she crouched, one hand on the caneblade at her hip, she considered her options.

Her thoughts barely began before she recognized a blaring sound, several in fact.

Sirens.

Crap, that wasn't going to make things easy. Lung had burned down nearly a city block and them some. He hadn't pulled any punches either, tearing into the pavement like wet sand, rending cars as if they were nothing more than paper. The fire would be the immediate concern, followed by the sheer damage he had inflicted to the road.

Her thoughts froze as she realized something, a topic of grave importance.

The PRT would be here. The fight had included Lung, as clear as day. The organization had no choice but to respond.

Which meant Protectorate. Which meant heroes.

Double crap. Fighting heroes wasn't on the agenda tonight. She had already died once. Best not risk it a second time.

She shook her head, trying not to think about that last thought.

Reaching into a pocket she pulled out her watch, flipping it open.

A small groan emanated from the girl as she put the timepiece away.

Not an hour had passed and they were still fighting the fire. That meant the area was still unsafe, probably cordoned off for investigation and to minimize the spread of flames, which meant it likely had PRT roaming around with hero backup.

Triple crap.

She moved, pressing herself against a wall that still had some measure of shadow left, and headed to the entrance of the alley, back to where the fight had been.

It took her a minute to traverse the distance, her feet moving slowly to lesson the effect of her clicking boots. When she finally reached the end her mouth fell open at the sight, eyes wide with no small amount of shock.

The destruction caused by the flaming dragon was immense. She knew it had been bad, but the fight had distracted her, her focus entirely on the beast that could smear her over the road in one move. Seeing aftermath she could tell that it had been far worse that she had realized. Most of the buildings on this block and couple over were either burning or gone, collapsed into a pile of blackened brick and broken cement. Holes bigger than a city bus pocketed the road, some cutting all the way across from side to side. Great cuts, as if from some monstrous claws, were present, deep tracks that you could stuff several people inside of. Flipped over cards, either burned or shredded, lay here and there, like toys a petulant child had thrown about.

Taylor stopped, gasping at the level of destruction that lay before her. It was immense, unlike anything she had ever seen.

She clenched her fists, a rage building behind the shock. People had died, no doubt about that. The collateral was to large, to widespread for any other eventuality to be the case. He had torn through the warehouse like it wasn't even there, shooting fire that had gotten so hot it melted stone.

There were probably people in those buildings, maybe even at the warehouse where this all began. Guards on duty, a late night worker, or maybe someone getting a few extra hours in.

She tried not to picture their bodies in the rubble, burnt and twisted beyond recognition. Families that would receive a call or visit, a message of loss mixed in this twisted affair.

Taylor growled as she lashed out, her fist striking the building corner, venting her rage. The blackened brick stood no chance against her enhanced strength, a chuck of wall the size of her head blasting out into pieces across the ground.

Lung had to be stopped. He was a monster despite his human form. She would not let this happen again.

With a firm nod she turned, heading the opposite way down the alley, away from the destroyed road and the site of her own death along with so many others. She had to remember the situation she was in.

PRT. Protectorate. Heroes.

They would be looking for someone at the scene, someone who had enticed Lung to go all out. He didn't go flaming dragon man form for nothing. No, the last time he had really taken off the gloves was when he'd arrived in Brockton Bay, cementing his dominance by taking on every hero they could throw at him.

Clearly, he won.

Honestly, who could expect to win when fighting a long, drawn out fight against him? His power set was nearly unbeatable, his regeneration factor pushing him until his raw strength overwhelmed his opponents.

Her thoughts mused over the fight as she sprinted across a street into another alleyway, ducking under a still burning collapsed wall.

His natural tendency toward escalation was what ultimately did her in. The fires, god how they had hurt, had whittled her down, burning her just enough for her rage to spurn her forward to counter attack, to sooth her wounds with his blood. It was a response that only fed his power set, forcing him to adapt and grow stronger, more powerful against her crippling blows.

She frowned behind the mask, ignoring the heat of a dumpster fire. She'd lost before the fight even began. Given her abilities, there was no way she could have beaten him. Maybe, just maybe, if she had found him before he had time to amp up, then she could have removed an arm or leg, incapacitating him.

Still, his regeneration was something out of this world. He had healed all the wounds she'd inflicted, including regrowing parts of his internal anatomy, and had only gotten faster by the end of it, sealing deep lacerations in seconds. Its possible that even in a relatively human state he could regenerate his limbs, pushing him to amp up even faster than if she hadn't crippled him at all.

Taylor shook her head and squinted, passing through what used to be a hardware store, its contents adding fuel for the endless flames.

Still, for a hopeless fight, at least Tattletale's crew escaped.

A brief smile crossed Taylor's face as she kicked out the back door, escaping into yet another burning alley.

She hadn't caught much of the teammates beyond the giant monster dog that had set her nerves on end. They had locked eyes once, just after she had torn out Lung's guts. Taylor had seen the fear in the blonde's eyes, the panic sitting just behind the raw desperation that was driving her forward. Her team, a crew half injured, hadn't been looking much better, their costumes burned and their bodies bruised.

Still, they persevered and had made it to the truck while Taylor had baited the beast away, driving him further down the road. The wings had surprised her but really at the end she'd been reactive at best, moving to avoid the claws and flames since attacking had no point.

She tried not thinking about the final bite and the vague memory that followed as she broke into a run, crossing a smoke filled street. She was out of the worst of it now, the fires a few blocks away casting a glow into the dark night. She coughed and reached a hand up to resettle her mask, her eyes burning against the smoke and heat.

Her plan had been to use the direction of the smoke to cover her escape. A wind had picked up, increasing the damage of the run away fires and driving the accumulated smoke to the bay. Between the smoke flooding across the night sky and the numerous hidden alleyways of the city, Taylor figured she would have no issue getting out without notice.

She should have known better than to trust her luck. What had it gotten her, really? Her civilian life was a mess, filled with school bullies and a shattered home. Her powers, something that usually brought a thrill and new life, had only caused her so much grief. Her abilites revolved around death and blood, something that would always remind her of the one of the worst experiences of her life.

She'd run out of luck a long time ago, if she had ever had any to begin with. Maybe she was cursed, some kind of freak that could never catch a break, a nexus of tragedy in a world falling apart.

Maybe the Doll was right. Maybe this was all just a dream, that her life was an illusion, a pointless fabrication.

Why, then, did it have to be a nightmare?

She mused over dark thoughts as she got ready to hop a roof, looking to land on another just a few feet away. Her movement was stopped short as a small sound, a mechanical click, echoed out. Instantly a thin dark rod, about a foot in length, buried itself a couple inches into the concrete roof, just a few inches from her left boot.

Taylor froze, fighting the compulsion to spin and lash out with her caneblade. It would be easy, just a flick of the wrist, and would only take seconds.

It would also be the worst mistake of her life.

She took a moment to examine the object to confirm her suspicion, a frown marring her hidden face.

Only one cape in this city used crossbow bolts.

A girl's voice range out, muffled with a hard edge.

"Turn around. Slowly. Don't think about going for that fancy sword of yours either."

Taylor repressed a sigh and did as instructed, slowly turning in place to face the cape.

Said cape was covered in a black bodysuit and armored plates, metal pads covering her joints and a pair of metal gauntlets for her forearms. She wore a heavy black coat that looked more like a cloak, a hood rising to cover most of her head save the front, and reached down to her ankles. She wore a pair of heavy boots and a black face plate, the mask etched into a feminine face twisted into a stern expression. The girl was dressed like the night, not so dissimilar than Taylor's own colors, and had a slender build, able to maneuver around her foes with ease. She couldn't have been much older than Taylor, their heights comparable, but it was hard to tell under the bodysuit.

On her hips rested two quivers, each filled with dozens of crossbow bolts.

Taylor focused on the cape's outstretched arms, each hand holding a hand crossbow pointed in her direction, bolts with shining tips against the glow of the fire.

She had to be careful. The last thing she wanted was a fight.

"Saw you running from the fire. Explain yourself."

The command was sharp, hands never wavering in their aim.

Taylor breathed out, slowly, willing her limbs to relax. The cape had her on edge, the weapons bringing up some instinct to attack. She didn't respond well to aggression, not since she got her powers. The mark seemed to have magnified that feeling, along with many others.

She tried not to think about it.

Instead, she spoke, her voice calm, "I'm not looking for a fight. I'm just trying to get back to my base."

She mentally kicked herself when she finished.

Get back to base? Really? Way to not sound like a villain, Taylor.

Apparently the cape thought along similar lines, her body shifting slightly, tensing imperceptibly, before speaking, "That's not really an answer and its suspicious at best. Try again."

Taylor watched the crossbows, their bolts resting just a trigger pull away from running her through. She blinked hard, clenching her right hand into a fist, and spoke, her voice somewhat strained, "Look, I'm not here to fight you or the other Wards. I'm just trying to get out of this mess."

She eyed the crossbows once more before continuing, "I'm not here to start shit with you or the other heroes. If its all the same I'd appreciate it if you pointed your crossbows somewhere else. My powers don't respond well to threats."

The Ward didn't move for a few moments, seeming content to stare down increasingly frustrated cape. Finally, after about half a minute, she lowered her crossbows slightly, just enough to not be threatening, but only just.

Taylor sighed a bit in relief, the tension releasing sightly. She pumped her hand, twisting her thoughts away from the blade at her belt and to the dark clad cape.

The Ward spoke, her voice tense, "You might not want to start something but you've already set a name for yourself. We've been getting reports of someone like you running around the city tonight, specifically around the area where the ABB set up."

She paused then continued, her voice quiet, "First night we've seen you out. You new?"

Taylor responded evenly, "You could say that."

"Uh huh. You have a habit of killing gang members?"

Taylor cringed, her expression mostly hidden by her mask. Beasts were beasts, but that mostly pertained to Lung or just capes in general. Normal people, for the most part, didn't deserve the kind of violence she could deal out.

She hadn't meant to kill anyone, hadn't done anything more lethal than take a limb off.

She swallowed hard as she recalled the alleyway she'd found Tattletale in, soaked with blood and bodies. Broken bodies, torn flesh, missing limbs; she had held back only minimally during the fight, prioritizing the men with weapons, focusing on incapacitating the beasts to save the cape.

How many had she killed? How many more had she scarred?

She responded her voice quiet, "They're beasts. I don't expect you to understand what that means. They're hurting people, hurting this city, and thriving off of the pain. Some of them I meant to kill, most of them I didn't." She stopped at a loss of words, unable to continue.

The Ward was quiet, standing in a stiff pose, arms bent forward as she held her weapons at the ready. After a minute she spoke, "You fought Lung, didn't you?"

Taylor blinked, her mind catching up with the Ward's words. She sputtered, eyes wide, "How-"

"There were witnesses that saw a cape matching your description moving in the direction of where Lung blew up."

Taylor paused, her mouth feeling somewhat dry from the heat. Really, what could she say? She knew that the fire was partially her fault, the destruction caused in large part by her pushing Lung further past his standard limits. She felt guilty for the chaos, but she hadn't had a choice at the time. He was already monstrously transformed, capable of tearing through a building like it was cardboard. If she hadn't challenged him then Tattletale's team would've died.

How many civilians had died in the fires, trapped under rumbled? Were they really worth the lives of four capes?

Taylor didn't want to think about that. Best keep it simple

She spoke, her voice firm with conviction, "Yes, we fought. Lung is a monster, a beast. I found him with his gang talking about going after children. I couldn't find out who the targets were so I moved to intercept, to drag his attention elsewhere."

The Ward stiffened, gloved hands clenching around her weapons. She spoke, a low growl, "He was going after kids? That's way outside his MO."

Taylor narrowed her eyes, her own fists clenching. She drew herself up, straightening her back, and replied, "I don't pretend to know his mind, and I don't really care. When I found him he was spewing fire hot enough to shatter glass. He had to be contained."

The cape scoffed, biting words drifting out, "Fat good that did. Three blocks have been totally condemned and another four are currently ablaze. How are you even alive? The damage we're finding is about the worst he's dished out here."

Taylor responded evenly, not much caring for the cape's tone, "I'm a lot harder to kill then you would think, just leave it at that. As for the damage there wasn't anything I could do beyond stall and wait for the PRT or Protectorate. I don't carry a phone and there wasn't any time to get help."

A silence descended over the duo, the Ward ever vigilant and Taylor growing more morose by the situation. She had done everything she could, going so far as to incapacitate dozens of his gang before running into Lisa, hoping to cripple their mission while she engaged Lung. She knew he was strong, that he hadn't ever really been beaten in Brockton Bay. Hell, that he could go toe to toe with an Endbringer and not lose spoke volumes of his capability in a brawl.

None of that mattered in the aftermath. Ultimately, while Lisa's group had escaped, she'd lost, leaving the beast to continue his rampage unabated. Who knows the damage that he'd wrought before retreating, the casualties suffered, the lives lost.

The guilt weighed heavily upon Taylor, her shoulders sagging slightly. She sighed, her soul weary of the night's events, and spoke, "I'm leaving. Its been a long night and we're nearing daybreak. This hunt is over."

The Ward responded quickly, taking a step forward and waving her weapons threateningly, "I don't think so. You have a lot of questions to answer. You've killed people, they won't ignore that. This mess with Lung-"

"And how many people did you kill before you were caught? How many bodies were left unaccounted?"

Taylor's words were sharp and swift, cutting off the Ward in an instant. She paused, working through the mental backstep at the sudden rebuttal, and replied with a low tone, "How-"

Taylor responded swiftly, taking charge of the conversation flow, "Because I'm well informed. Because people talk. Because the Protectorate and the PRT don't cover up things just as well as they should. Yeah, your a Ward, but you weren't always. You may roll with the Wards, but your still the same Shadow Stalker, just better equipped."

She paused, idly noting the bolt at her feet, before continuing, "Still using live ammunition. That probably could have crippled me if you had really been going for it."

The Ward's lack of a response spurned Taylor forward, "Don't get me wrong, I agree with your methods. This city is sick, infested with a disease that's rotting it away. I'm here to excise the cancer. I'd prefer not killing, but sometimes you have to put a mad dog down, like a beast."

She continued, "I don't expect you to understand and its better that you didn't. I've got a lot of fucked up shit going on with my life. Suffice it to say that you had a cause, a purpose for your campaign against the gangs, and its not so different than mine. You went after the gangs but they're not the real issue here. Its the villains, the capes, that are the cause of all the strife. Lung, Kaiser, Skidmark: they perpetuate the violence, the crime, and the sickness that's destroying this city."

There was a pause, a silence that stretched on for almost a minute, before the Ward responded, her voice soft, "What are you going to do about it?"

Taylor's reply was instant and firm.

"I'm going to hunt them."

It was a statement spoken with a finality, a ultimatum against the darkness plaguing the city.

Another silence and the Ward spoke, her arms lowering to rest by her sides, clipping the crossbows to her belt, "Get out of here before I change my mind."

Taylor nodded and turned back to the ledge, readying herself to continue on.

She was stopped by the cape, words echoing out, "Hey, what's your name?"

Taylor stopped, frozen by a moment of indecision, and replied, partially turning her head too address the Ward behind her.

"I'm just a hunter...a hunter of the beasts."


	18. Impurity 2

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

The workshop was calm, a serenity unmarred by the passage of faux time.

A sweet scent passed through the open doors, filling the space with a pleasant aroma, complementing the peace within. The fireplace crackled, logs tumbling as they burned, shooting an array of sparks into the room. The moon hung high, its pale light illuminating all, gentle rays that removed all shadow and darkness from the world.

The workshop was a place of peace and respite, a resting point for the most tested of warriors.

But it was not empty.

The doll lifted the lid of a small wooden chest, hinges creaking from age and disuse, dust wafting into the air from lack of care. Pale hands, moving with a deftness that belied their artificial nature, lifted a wooden tray up and toward the nearby workbench. A dozen small jars rocked on the tray as it was placed, the glass yellow with age and covered in labels with unreadable text. With care, the doll gently lifted each jar, placing them next to a device of copper and polished bronze, a metal instrument that ended in rubber tubing.

Within minutes the task was complete, the doll turning back to the chest and carefully closing the lid. She stood, hands coming to rest toward her front in a demure manner, and observed the efforts of her labor, a gentle smile gracing her features.

Dozens of jars, of various sizes, sat in cabinets and on desks, waiting to be filled. Small vials filled with quicksilver sat alongside empty auto injectors, liquid metal resting languidly within the faded glass. The work desk had been tidied up, clamps cleaned of rust and tools set aside in neat order, awaiting the hands of their master. Bowls of tin sat on dusted wooden shelves, a fine white power contained under unassuming lids. The metal blades that hung rusted and worn against the wall now gleamed with wicked promise, their polished edges glinting from the firelight, blade teeth sharper than any razor.

The workshop looked renewed, alive and vibrant with purpose that it had lacked, as if awakening from some long slumber.

The doll's smile widened imperceptibly.

She turned and departed, her walk graceful and calm, her footsteps soft as they carried her through the back door and out into the night air.

A dirt trail laid before her, a path peppered with white flowers and grass, stretching downward in a bend, rounding the outside of the workshop back toward the front entrance. Several meters below sat a small basin, a bath, in an alcove, the ground wet as if recently use, the water gleaming with an ethereal light. Along the right side of that path were several grave stones, evenly spaced along the trail and worn with age, stone crumbling and overgrown with moss.

The doll made it a few steps from the workshop door, her shawl blowing gently with the wind, and made a half turn to her left, pale eyes coming to rest on a single tombstone.

It was of average size, faded and weathered with age, standing resolute over a plot, the ground disturbed as if recently filled. Its text was unreadable, words scratched through, as if by a blade, and warped by the worn stone.

The doll's delicate brow dipped, furrowing in a manner of confusion. She raised her left hand and reached out toward the gravestone, a beckoning motion, as if grasping.

To a memory. To a dream.

She stopped, her hand raised, artificial fingers extended lightly, reaching out toward something intangible.

To a life that earned its peace.

The doll retracted her hand, an unreadable expression marring her porcelain face. Returning the limb to rest by its partner she continued her walk, away from the grave and its secrets.

Her boots clicked softly against the cobblestone as her stride carried her swiftly down the inclined path, her posture at ease with the world. Coming back to the front of the workshop she turned and looked toward the lone bath sitting in the alcove, its ornate surface gleaming as if wet.

A small smile graced her lips, eyes crinkling in joy. Quickly the artificial woman made her way over to the small bath, her steps fast and excited.

As she approached the water within the basin swirled, a conflicting rotation that seemed without direction. Upon her final steps the water sprung to life, a series of small bodies, pale and malformed, erupted from beneath the liquid, their small torsos crowding around one another. They heads were twisted, many without eyes or mouths, and wore small top hats, the fabric worn with age. A low moaning began as the dozen small things greeted the doll, their arms lifted toward her as if preparing for an embrace.

The doll laughed, a small chuckle she hid beneath a hand, pale eyes shining with amusement.

"Oh little ones, you are quite excited. It is the young hunter, yes?"

The moaning increased in intensity, the withered creatures beginning to sway as if to some unheard melody.

The doll smiled, hands coming to rest at her front as she regarded the creatures with warmth. She spoke, her accent coming through, "Yes, it has been some time since a hunter has visited this dream. Perhaps she will find her worth before she awakens. You must watch over her, little ones. A hunter's life is filled with hardship, and I fear she will encounter much on her journey."

The moans quieted, the creatures shifting forward, as if listening, misshapen heads bent in an attentive manner.

The doll continued, pale eyes intense in their gaze, an unreadable expression over her porcelain face.

"Use great care little ones, lest you wander into a nightmare."

The moaning ceased, a silence overtaking the workshop, an oppressive thing that seemed to smother the world with its presence. Just as quick the moaning returned, the small things as loud as they were upon their arrival, the doll smiling at their antics.

She tilted her head, an inquisitive motion, white hair drifting with the wind. She nodded, as if in understanding, and spoke, her tone comforting, "Do not worry, little ones. The young hunter has been through much. She is as hesitant in her interaction with yourselves as she is with everything else after such a change. I am sure it is nothing personal, so just give her time."

The moaning seemed to increase slightly, the small things reaching out toward the doll in a pleading manner.

Her smile grew, her amusement clear across her artificial features. She spoke, her voice light and placating, as if talking to a child, "Then perhaps a change is in order. Something to draw her attention."

The moaning quieted, the small creatures growing still, as if unsure. One withered being, toward the back, pulled off its top hat, the headgear falling away into the water. It donned another hat, a wide brimmed brown top with a brown strap around the base. The hat sat forward slightly, its beady eyes hidden beneath the brim, leaving a hanging jaw with too many teeth as its only visible features.

The doll looked fondly upon the small thing, her words light and filled with mirth, "Yes, I'm sure that will do." She chuckled openly as the rest of the small creatures quickly replaced their hats, each pulling a brown copy from nowhere, their moans increasing in measure in seeming delight.

The artificial women lightly shook her head as she stepped away, leaving the creatures to revel in their own ways.


	19. Impurity 3

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Shadow Stalker sighed beneath her mask, weary with fatigue from the night's events.

It was largest gang movement in recent months, and it had come without warning. Sure, a few tips had suggested that the ABB were plotting something, but nothing more than any other group was planning. Moving drugs, selling weapons, cleaning money; the conventional movements of criminal groups were obvious and predicable.

Tonight had been anything but predicable.

She sighed again, blinking away her tiredness as if it were an adversary to defeat. She checked a nearby wall clock, a cheap thing with neon green numbers that fell as panels.

6:52AM

Great. It was morning already. She probably wasn't going to be getting any sleep till noon, at the earliest.

Resisting the urge to rest in a nearby chair the young heroine took in the room she found herself in, not for the first time wishing it resembled her bedroom. She paced, partially to distract her but mostly to keep herself awake.

It was a conference room, evidenced by the long table in the middle of the space, itself flanked by nearly a dozen chairs on either side facing inward. A pair of double doors were to one side, metal panels with the PRT logo imprinted upon their faces. On the far wall was a screen, easily twice her height, where presentations could be displayed. In a corner sat a coffee machine and its complements, a few bagels and day old snack food lingering from the previous meeting.

Shadow Stalker huffed, the sound coming out like a growl through the mask.

Why was she even here in the first place? Wasn't there something more important that she could be doing?

"Because we need to debrief about last night."

The heroine narrowed hidden eyes in irritation. She wasn't alone.

The girl turned toward the table, taking in the rest of her 'team'. Aegis, the young man who had spoken, sat in chair, his costume a red skintight suit with a silver-white trim and a stylized shield emblem on his chest. His helmet, a full piece the encompassed his whole head, was turned in her direction. His costume looked dirty, dark smudges, like dirt or ash, streaked his body here and there.

He was the leader of the Brockton Bay Wards, a position that fit the team, his smooth personality motivating the group.

Shadow Stalker snorted at the thought. He was just as weak as the rest of the herd, relying on his powers to keep him alive after what would be normally fatal wounding.

If he were stronger he wouldn't get hit in the first place.

Further down the table sat another teenager, slightly younger, in a suit of armor that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Stylized as a suit of full plated medieval knight armor, the colors silver and gunmetal gray, the metal interwoven with lights and electronics. It was slimmed down at the joints, allowing for a wide range of movement for the heavy suit of power armor. The armor on his right arm looked scorched, the metal burned black, as if he had reached into a furnace.

The ward was looking between the other two teenagers, his helmet shifting easily from side to side.

Shadow Stalker narrowed her eyes behind her mask.

If Gallant was reading her again then so help-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the doors opening, a tall man moving swiftly inside, gloved hands closing the doorway with barely a pause. He cut a figure, clothed in a suit of midnight-blue power armor with silver highlights. His helmet was styled in the same pattern, a dark visor cutting across his brow with an opening cut away for his lower face and jaw, his short beard cropped and trimmed. In his right hand rested a futuristic looking halberd, a long weapon that was slim, compact, and dangerously sharp.

This was Armsmaster, leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, and their boss.

He took in the teenagers, a small pause leaving the room in suspense, before turning to Aegis, the smallest tilt of his helmet noting the shift in his attention.

"Where is Kid Win?"

Aegis shrugged, an easy motion, replying just as casually, "He's helping the firefighters with search and rescue."

The man hummed to himself, fingers rapping against the neck of the halberd in one quick flurry.

An instant later he started forward, toward the screen, his words echoing out in a measure pace, "That is acceptable. He, along with the other Wards, will be debriefed at a later time."

Aegis visibly cringed while Shadow Stalker smirked as she approached the table. She struggled to stifle a chuckle as she pictured the other Wards, worn out and half asleep, sitting in these chairs and wishing they were anywhere else.

Her attention was drawn back to the situation as the screen flickered to life, a blue loading screen whirring though some process before flashing briefly. By the time she finished taking her seat a series of videos had been brought up, each depicting a singular event from half a dozen separate angles. The event that had taken up the majority of their night.

"Today we will be discussing the events of the night of April 11th, 2011. Namely, the ABB operation that took place in the Docks and the fire that erupted out of said operation."

Armsmaster's voice carried as he motioned toward the screen, his halberd tilting, aligning itself to an aerial feed. Ruined buildings, brick burned black and wood charred to cinder, stood together, the structures still smoldering.

Shadow Stalker shook slightly, remembering the feeling of the fire and heat. Moving through that area had been hard, dangerous for anyone without some way to avoid the flames.

She glanced at Gallant's arm, noting the damaged armor, plates burned black.

God, that must have hurt.

"The action plan for this debriefing will be the following: discuss the ABB operation, explore the events surrounding Lung, and review the response of PRT/Protectorate elements."

Armsmaster stopped, the screen flashing to a number of ABB gang members in a holding cell in what had to be BBPD holding cell. The asians looked worn out, their bodies slumped and resting, some in clothes stained with blood.

The hero continued, his attention facing the Wards, "At approximately 12:26am, the PRT received intelligence that suggested ABB movement in or around the Docks area. No target or goal was given for the operation, but it heavily implied the involvement of cape related combat. At 2:14am, EMS and the emergency personnel were informed of several encounters between ABB members and civilians. Crimes conducted by the ABB were largely misdemeanor, yet several severe felonies were committed. Regardless, the majority of the ABB involved in the operation were captured and processed."

His head turned toward Aegis before he asked, "Explain what your team was doing during this time."

The young man in red leaned back a bit, crossing his arms in a casual manner, before speaking, "Gallant and I were on patrol Downtown while Kid Win and Shadow Stalker were moving along the coast. Vista was sitting in with Miss Militia on comms and Browbeat was on standby with Clockblocker."

He leaned forward a bit and continued, "When the action started Gallant and I were redirected toward the Docks. We applied for the assistance of New Wave but they decided to sit it out, figuring the E88 were making some kind of move. Kid Win and Shadow Stalker were closest to the fighting so they were immediately directed to engage and suppress."

Armsmaster turned to the girl in question, his words quick and hard, "What occurred between your arrival on scene and the announcement of the recall?

Shadow Stalker frowned. She hated it when he looked at her like that. Sure, his eyes were hidden, but only weaklings needed something so plain and open to really read someone. His stance, hard and firm, his hand just oh-so-casually holding his weapon. The slight grimace on his face, a subtle downward turning on the lips that she didn't think he even noticed.

He had an expectation of her. They all did. She had walked into a mass of gang activity, too much for any one hero, much less two Wards, to handle alone. He expected a slip up, a lack of restraint, a little brutality for those inflicting so much more.

Her eyes narrowed, fist clenching under the table.

They were all just prey! Why couldn't they understand that!?

She spoke, her voice measured, "Kid Win and I walked into a madhouse. There were ABB everywhere, running down civilians and breaking into homes. The first few we captured kept shouting gibberish, resisting to the point where we had to incapacitate them. After ten minutes we decided to split up to cover more ground. He flew northwest, toward the train yard, while I kept moving west."

The halberd wielding hero stared at her for a moment before nodding, speaking as she left off, "What did you find as you moved through the conflict?"

The girl sighed, her tiredness weighing heavily, and spoke, "What I just described and what you already said: a bunch of thugs roughing people up. Some where beaten, others just mugged. It was all fairly standard, considering how they work. It wasn't till I got into the slums that I started to find corpses."

She could see Gallant wince from the term, Aegis just shifting uncomfortably. She ignored them, focusing on her story, "There were a pair of women, young, who had called in a possible sexual assault. I rerouted to their position via the BBPD. When I got there they were sitting on a nearby stoop, shaking and talking quietly. Took a minute to check them out but they were fine, just shook up. They pointed me into an alleyway, which is were I found their assailant."

Just as she finished her sentence the feeds flickered, their forms melding into a single image, a picture. A single body, dressed in ABB colors, lay in what looked to be a dirty, ill kept alleyway. His body was rended, the torso torn from his lower half near the waist, a pair of legs laying a few meters away in a crumbled pile. One arm, his right, was missing just below the elbow, it having fallen not far from the point of view of the camera, a small knife held loosely in the palm.

There was a silence in the room, a quiet that was smothering. Gallant had turned briefly toward the image and then away, while Aegis looked dispassionately upon the body, his body language displaying an intense boredom.

Shadow Stalker let out a small grin.

It was a brutal killing, something that only befit a crime equally brutal. He had died in severe pain, his insides becoming outside, his nerves snapping as synapses desperately clung to life. His body had been cold when she found it, but those last moments of his must have been full of so much life, right up until the end.

An end carved out by no hero, but something else entirely.

Armsmaster's voice carried across the room, refocusing the Wards, "Ho Chen. Age 26, five foot six inches, and 146lbs. He was arrested several times for possession, but got time off for good behavior. He joined the ABB recently, having bloodied himself against the E88. His crimes include everything from armed robbery to attempted murder. This would make his first attempt at sexual assault, armed with a knife no less.

He paused, leaving a moment for the teenagers to take in his words, before he continued, "Clearly, he won't be trying again."

Instantly a second image appeared, falling in alongside that of Chen. It was clearly taken with a phone, the image slightly distorted from the setting. Another dank alleyway lay as the backdrop, this time filled with trash and discarded boxes. The main subject of the image looked to be a girl, but it was hard to tell. She was tall and slight, a thin build that lay hidden under a set of armor that made her look like some kind of witch hunter. Dark leather with bonded metal over the gauntlets and boots, a long coat that draped down to her shins, and a cap with rear swept protrusions that looked like wings. At her hip, just slightly visible, rested some kind of metal object, a cane. She was walking away from the picture, into the night of horror and chaos.

The hero's voice carried over the room as the teenagers took in the image, "Several eyewitness accounts corroborate the presence of an unknown cape moving through the zone of operation. This cape performed limited participation in the evacuation of civilians and provided medical aid to those who needed it. However, this pales in comparison to her participation against the ABB threat."

Several images blinked into existence, pictures of the cape fighting and moving. One image, set upward on what had to be a store's wall, showed the girl squaring off against five gang members. Another, toward the bottom of the screen, was a still caught in the midst of a battle, her cane cutting a furrow across a man's chest, blood whipping toward the camera.

The center image was one that turned the stomachs of every Ward in the room. Dozens of bodies, each lying down in an alleyway in a growing pool of blood. A few were scrunched up, defensively resorting to the fetal position, while many more lay stricken, their bodies missing arms and hands. In the middle of it all stood the cape, covered in blood that seemed to drip from her like water, her cane resting comfortably in her right hand, like a sword.

Shadow Stalker's eyes grew wide, her breath catching as she looked upon the work of such a dark force. The gang members weren't just beaten into submission like so many who encountered the heroes. No, these men were broken, most permanently so. Some would die, but many would never be the same, always plagued by lingering injuries.

She smiled behind her mask, a small thing that rarely happened while part of the Wards.

Maybe the girl really could save the city. She certainly had the stomach for it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the hero leading the group, the man speaking, "So far the number of casualties left behind in this new cape's wake has surpassed what we collectively performed during the entire night. Most were non-lethal take downs, focusing on joints and disabling blows. Upon examination, the victims of her assault were left with key joints that would require replacing and organs nearly crushed, evidence that heavily suggests some measure of Brute rating. Her weapon, something akin to a cane blade but without the sheath, was employed but in measured amounts, her tactics favoring crippling strikes and wide lacerations. The cane's secondary function, a whip, was employed several times against ABB members with lethal weapons, firearms mostly. To this the cape's response was severe, employing lethal strikes, often removing the offenders weapon via their arm."

He paused before continuing, "Make no misunderstanding, while the cape practiced some measure of limited force, it was based off of her own range of damage. The majority of these men, when captured, had to be taken to the hospital, where they will being undergoing treatments for months. Panacea has been called to heal the many members who EMS personnel arrived on time to save, hopefully giving us the ability to question them further about tonight's events."

He paused, bringing up the first picture of the cape, before turning to each Ward in turn, "Before we continue I will tell you that, as of now, the PRT has put into effect a limited contact policy for this cape. She is classified as highly dangerous and, should you encounter her, must be avoided at all costs. We do not know the full range of this cape's powers yet, though they appear to focus mainly on melee combat. We will be working out a rating for her as more information develops, but bear in mind the level of carnage that she is capable of. Do not take any unnecessary risks."

He waited for each Ward to nod in acknowledgment before turning to Shadow Stalker, "You are the only Protectorate member to have encountered this cape. Go over what happened when you made contact."

Shadow Stalker felt the eyes of her teammates on her as grated her teeth. Like he wasn't already reading the transcript from her earlier report now.

Fucking Tinkers.

She spoke, her words slightly flippant, "She wasn't much. Yeah, the pictures make her look like a bad ass, but she looked tired. Not physically, but mentally. I tracked her fleeing the scene of the fire just about twenty minutes after Lung left."

There was a moment, then Armsmaster nodded, responding with, "What did she say when you spoke with her?"

The girl frowned, slightly wary of the hero. That girl, for all the good she could do for the city, was in some deep shit now that the Protectorate caught wind of her. Sure, she wanted to hunt prey and clean out the filth, but she wasn't going to be able to do that with the hero groups breathing down her neck. The cape had made a pretty clear point in that they were both hunters and that there was prey everywhere, so it would be stupid not to share a bit.

Still, that didn't mean she had to stick her neck out for the girl.

"She told me that she wanted to clean up the city, that how we do things weren't actually fixing the gang problems. She said that she was going to target the Parahumans, like Lung or Kaiser, and that with them gone the gangs wouldn't have a backbone to fight with."

Armsmaster hummed, fingers tapping against the halberd. Gallant spoke, his voice echoing out through this helmet, "So, how does she expect to do this then? Targeting the gangs is only going to cause more civil discord and warfare, leaving people hurting and injured. Besides, it'll turn the PRT building into a bigger target, since she'll have to dump the villains off here."

Shadow Stalker smiled as she responded.

"Not if she kills them."

The silence was deafening, interrupted only a small 'tick' as the clock turned over.

Aegis spoke, his relaxed figure coming undone as he leaned forward on the table, "So, let me get this right. You saying this cape is dead set on wiping out the major gang villains to stop the warfare, going so far as to kill them to keep them down. If that's true then there's going to be a major power vacuum, one that she could take if she wanted to."

He turned to the tall hero, waving a hand in his direction as if asking for something, "Do we have any idea on what her beef with the gangs are?"

Armsmaster shook his head, a slight movement, prompting Aegis to continue, his arms coming to rest behind his head as he leaned back, "Then maybe that's just it. She's trying to make a power play."

The hero hummed again as the images of the fire blinked back onto the screen. He spoke, "We'll leave speculation to the Thinkers. For now, we have classified her as a villain, despite her assistance to the civilians. Her wanton use of lethal force cannot be ignored, nor can the trail of maimed and broken survivors. We need to learn more about her intentions, especially if they have to do with the gang leaders."

He motioned towards the screen, a video of the raging inferno from hours earlier playing, before continuing, "For now, we can surmise that there was some truth to her words. Witnesses and video footage does place her path of travel headed directly into the heart of the fire, where Lung was found. Shadow Stalker's report reveals that the cape did fight Lung, though how she escaped virtually unscathed is a mystery. Her intent of unfinished business all but assures that there will be a repeat occurrence sometime in the future, which we'll have to be ready for."

The man turned to Aegis and asked, "Where was your team during the general recall?"

The cape straightened a bit, speaking plainly, "Well, I called for everyone to pull back south and set up a few blocks from the inferno. Making it to the rally point was a no go, since we would've had to run either through the fire, and Lung, or maneuver around the blocks that were already lit. Because of that, I sent everyone to start evacuating people from their homes closest to the fire and sent Kid Win to help the firefighters that were already arriving."

He made a slight motion to Gallant, noting the scorched arm, "We had a situation come up where an apartment got lit up. Gallant had to pull out a family that was pinned under some debris, which left him wounded. I called in the situation to central and was told that everyone was on standby while Lung burned his anger out. After that, we received orders to set up a small section of the perimeter that went up around the fires."

He motioned in Shadow Stalker's direction briefly, saying, "I told her and Kid Win to keep an eye out via the rooftops and the sky for whatever could come out way. Gallant was still suffering from his burns so I stayed with him on ground level. Clockblocker and Browbeat showed up not long after Lung cleared out."

Armsmaster nodded, motioning toward the images of the fire. He spoke, words that seemed to echo everyone's feelings on the matter, "This is nothing short of a tragedy. Dozens lost their lives in the fires, gang member and civilian alike, while hundreds have now been made homeless, their homes and possessions gone. Lung has rarely displayed this level of destruction, relying mostly on his reputation and strength to end fights quickly or prevent them entirely. If this new mystery cape did hunt down Lung in the middle of his operation and was capable of pushing him to this degree, then it shows that she should not be underestimated. Likewise, if she did escape with so little damage, it will tarnish Lung's reputation, a slight he will not ignore. It is entirely likely that he will become more aggressive in the coming days, so you will need to be prepared."

There was a finality in his words, a solemn end point that highlighted just how wrong the night went for everyone involved. The mood grew dim as each Ward nodded, one at a time, agreeing to do what needed to be done.

Shadow Stalker's smile grew just a little bit more.


	20. Impurity 4

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Lisa arrived at the small cafe just past noon. It was an out of the way stop, a location for tourists and residents enjoying the Boardwalk to stop and refresh themselves. She stopped there, from time to time, after spending the occasional morning browsing several clothes outlets and the fresh food market. It was a popular location, already busy with the lunch crowd, dozens of people enjoying the relaxing atmosphere.

It was a good choice for a rendezvous, a place where two people could meet and discuss whatever they wanted, eating good food and relaxing to the somewhat upbeat music, lost in the crowd.

Such qualities, especially that last part, also made it a terrible place to discuss cape stuff.

Which was why she had pressured her contact to moving the location just slightly away, closer to a set of piers near the bay. They were originally set up for tourists to look out over the water, stationary telescopes dotting every other pier. After the tourism industry took a hit from the closing of the bay, a blow it never truly recovered from, fewer people took the time to come out and see the water, it being an uninteresting staple in the lives of the city residents.

Lisa parked the truck a couple blocks down from the cafe, finding a street corner that wasn't filled with cars. She got out and took the time to smooth out her dress, erasing the small wrinkles that had formed while driving. She ran a hand over her dark blonde hair, tied back into a bun, and sighed.

Hopefully this person would have more information than the last.

She shook her head, clearing her thought, and nodded to herself to get going. Dropping a few coins in a nearby meter she set off to the piers, eyes scanning for her contact's description.

It was a challenge, to say the least. There had to be over a hundred people walking around, meandering from store to store, taking their time to enjoy the midday sun. People from various backgrounds, wearing a variety of clothing, most from some paper pushing occupation, swarmed the road, forcing Lisa into a mental backstep as she reined in her power.

So many people, all with their own agendas and secrets, a subject that would normally entice her, left her wary.

No need to trigger a migraine on useless information.

She maneuvered through the crowds with nimble movements, weaving through people with a disarming smile she really didn't feel, eyes peeled for her contact.

It took her more than a few minutes to reach the piers, the salty smell of the bay washing over the shoreline. The piers themselves were in largely good condition, small cracks and some wear from the bay the obvious flaws. The wood was old, creaking with an age that surpassed most visitors, boards that had been bleached white by the sun. Couples and families doted the surrounding stops, children running along the piers or playing with the telescopes, their innocent joy bringing a light atmosphere. The bay was calm, gentle waves lapping against the shore, a pleasant day for any outing.

Shame she didn't feel it. Didn't feel much beyond shame and guilt after what she had seen.

Lisa sighed as she walked down a pier that was sparsely populated, her thoughts on the fight only a couple of weeks ago. It was a terrifying experience, one of the worst nights of her life. Many times she was sure of her demise or of some dark future that would be nothing short of hell. Such fears had only escalated after she had been split off from the others, her power leaving her woefully outmatched against so much.

Then the hunter came, in a flurry of singing steel and merciless strikes, saving her life from whatever dark end it could have taken. Lisa had been scared, petrified by the cape, a person who had the strength to take apart over a dozen men, mortally wounding so many without a care.

But the hunter had been some girl, not older than Lisa, out and about on her first night, trying to save people from the chaos that was ravaging the streets in Lung's wake.

A girl that had done everything to save Lisa's team, to stall Lung even as she was slowly being whittled away by fire and claws. She threw herself into the fight without a moment of hesitation, without care or concern for herself, merely stating a final request, a last desire before her warrior's death.

Lisa stopped at the end of the pier, arms coming to rest on the railing, her hands mindful of splinters, as she fought an internal battle.

That girl knew nothing of the Undersiders, probably didn't know about how villain life worked or how the cape community operated. She just wanted to do good, help people, and save her city from the conflict that was consuming it. A dream so strong she had pursued it to the end for the sake of a bunch of 'heroes' caught in a bad situation.

Lisa scoffed, lightly kicking the railing with a shoe, "Stupid girl."

The others didn't understand, couldn't for a variety of reasons. Bitch was too different, her mind twisted by her powers, to understand just what it all had meant. Regent was too close to a sociopath, not really caring if some 'wanna be' hero died in his stead. Grue, for the most part, was sympathetic, but he hadn't really been coherent through the events of the fight, just guided along.

No, only Lisa had talked to the girl, found out so little yet so much about her, and had been privy to her last words. Nobody would understand how terrible she felt, so overwhelmed with guilt that the hero had thrown herself to her death at a few manipulative words.

Lisa blinked away a few tears, eyes burning, and quickly went about dismissing those thoughts. They cut way to close to home.

"Don't be a beast, huh? Easier said than done.", she muttered, her words forlorn.

How could she honor that final request? She was just a Thinker, a comparably powerful one, by her estimate, but that was it. She was good at solving problems, getting information, and other covert acts. Open combat did not suit her power set, her abilities favoring tactics based around evasion and escape.

Which meant getting out of Coil's grasp was going to be next to impossible.

A heavy sigh fell from the girl as she watched the gentle water sway, the bay a deep blue, a darkness that belied its depth.

She never wanted to be a villain, never even wanted to be part of the whole cape community. Really, she just wanted to be left alone, to be free. She ran from home for that very reason, to prevent from being manipulated for her powers. Sure, her powers were cool, and she liked being a know-it-all, but there was a line that she acknowledged when it came to using her knowledge.

Which didn't matter to Coil, because he had her on a leash, of sorts. Sure, she was part of the Undersiders, just the resident Thinker for the team, but it wasn't really true. Their escapades, their goals; hell, even some of their minor hits were all bent around some greater purpose directed by the snake pulling the stringers.

She was being manipulated, again. They all were and only she knew. She could tell them, convince them to back her up, or even go to the PRT and turn herself in, citing a plea for asylum from the arch-villain.

It wouldn't matter. His connections were deep and vast, far more than she had been able to map so far. He would find them, find her.

It would only be a matter of time.

"Hey."

A soft voice cut through her thoughts, somewhat startling her in its suddenness. She straightened herself up, taking care smooth away her inner turmoil from her expression, and turned.

A girl, just slightly shorter than Lisa, stood a few feet away. She was pale, rail thin and tall with green eyes and long curly brown hair. She wore a pair of well used sneakers, some jeans that had seen too many wash cycles, and a faded brown hoody. Her face, partially covered by the hood, sported a pair of wide, green eyes and a wide, thin lipped mouth set in a somewhat wary expression. A pair of glasses settled just a little too far forward, like she was used to looking over the rims. Her hands rested in the front pocket of the hoody, her body slightly tense at their meeting.

Lisa slipped her hold on her powers for a moment, letting the information flow.

 **Contact: probable high school age. Clothes are well used, possible lower income. Possible slight eye correction, may only use them when necessary. Contact is hesitant, untrusting, suggestive of possible history of conflict with strangers or otherwise. Concealing clothes supports theory. Suggestive of desire to not be noticed.**

Lisa smiled, a disarming turn of her lips, and held out her hand as she spoke, "Hey, I'm Lisa."

The girl looked at the extended hand, her body somewhat hunching in on itself for a moment before reaching with her right, giving the gesture a light shake.

"Taylor."

Lisa nodded, stepping to the side of the railing, an invitation to join her.

Taylor looked between the blond and the railing, debating if she should just leave now, forget about the meeting, and head home.

Really, this all started because she wanted some measure of proof that her actions had done a good, delivering more than just the justice deserved by the beasts of the city. She needed to see if the people she had saved, the civilians that she had run across, had mattered, needed to feel that satisfaction after hearing about the death toll.

She blinked hard, settling a vice over her emotions. She didn't need to think about that here, in front of this girl. She had to focus, think about what she was going to say, keep from giving away too much to early.

She'd go home and cry some more over the killing later.

Taylor stepped up to the railing, giving a glance toward the gently rolling bay, eyes drawn to the deeper parts just beyond the ship graveyard in the distance. She couldn't help but stop by the water edge on her morning runs, taking in the bay and the vast expansion of the ocean beyond.

Its depths were occlusive, a quality that hid all from the world of man and the world above. She felt a silent pull, a small tug, at the unknown, as if there was something more, some greater meaning that she could only barely grasp.

It made her very uncomfortable, considering it was similar to how she felt when at the workshop.

She tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about a lot of things lately, but it was getting harder not too, like she was being drawn into something she didn't understand.

Maybe that was the sleep deprivation talking.

Taylor turned to the blond, eyes cutting just above her glasses for a moment to take in the ever present smile directed her way, and spoke, her voice projecting her tired state, "So, I don't know how we're going to do this."

 **Contact is afflicted by an exhaustion. Possible sleepless night. Possibly overworked. Contact is wary of encounter, halfhearted in its resolution. Possibly wants to keep information secret. Possibly uncomfortable around others. Probably untrusting due to meeting topic.**

Lisa gave a short nod, keeping a somewhat upbeat expression to counter the air the girl was giving off, and began, "Well, I guess it would make sense if I went first, seeing how I contacted you. I met the cape when my friends and I got attacked by some thugs. We were out to see a movie and got mugged coming back. She came in, did her thing, and zipped away after she was sure we'd be okay."

The girl looked at Lisa, an expression on her face that her powers had a hard time reading, before she nodded, hair bobbing in a breeze. It was about half a minute before she spoke, her voice somewhat soft, eyes watching the water's horizon.

"My dad and I were out getting some food when the ABB showed up. They threatened to hurt my dad and I tried to stop them. Someone hit me and then suddenly she was there, cutting them down like dogs. It was...disturbing. I've never seen that much blood before."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper at the end, the encounter clearly disturbing in its detail.

Lisa didn't focus on that. Wasn't thinking about how the girl looked somewhat lost as she watched the sea beyond the bay.

Instead, she listened to her powers, a ball of suspicion growing with every moment.

 **Contact is telling a half truth. Unclear which parts are real and fake. Intent behind the deception is unclear.**

Lisa listened to her power ramble for a few seconds, listing varying entities that this girl could be a agent of, before dismissing most of them. This girl was too much of a shut in to be a viable spy, clearly someone who didn't really want to be here. Maybe some kind of civilian manipulated by a greater force?

If so, then what was the point? Why ask some civilian to respond to the forum she posted, asking to talk to anyone who had met the ill fated heroine? The cape had attracted a lot of attention, that was true, but hadn't been seen since that night, her fate left a mystery to all but the Undersiders. Not even Coil knew, his own interest seeming to slide toward manipulating the escalating gang conflict.

Lisa wanted to keep it that way. Nobody needed to know about her demise. The possibility of her presence in the city alone was starting to cause waves, forcing questions to be asked about how the PRT was handling the villain situation.

It was the least Lisa could do in the girl's memory.

None of that really helped with dealing with the current situation: a girl hiding things.

"Did you see her? Most that ran into her are saying that she was pretty open with people."

Taylor's brow furrowed, her mind racing for a good answer.

This was a bad idea. She didn't know what she was doing. She hadn't had a decent conversation with another girl her age after Emma turned traitor. She knew she couldn't rely on improvising, wouldn't have the social skills needed to run a totally fake conversation. She had a few pre-made statements, mostly just about her 'rescue' and how 'the gang was everywhere'. Really, she wanted to just cut the conversation and leave, her worry increasing steadily.

But she couldn't. The girl, Lisa, had dropped a very important detail that had stopped Taylor in her tracks, a single thought that froze everything.

The girl had been rescued with her friends.

Taylor knew the folks she came across, mostly just an elderly couple and a few young men caught up in the ABB operation. The exception had been a two young women who had been put against a wall, the thug talking in some kind of broken english about performing illicit acts as 'payment' for some deal.

She didn't feel bad about what she did to that beast. Animals that lost control had to be dealt with, after all.

Still, those girls had been of asian descent, not some pretty blond haired white girl. Nobody met that description coupled with 'friends' out for a late night venture.

Nobody, save one.

This was dangerous. Taylor knew enough about the cape community to know that finding out a cape's identity was a big problem. That girl, Tattletale, hadn't been a bad cape either, just some sort of hero caught up in a bad situation. She was a cape, sure, and possibly just an extension of the corruption flooding the city, but not everyone was a beast. Taylor may be the only cape willing to actively buck the status quo, to defend the city from the encroachment of the beast, but there had to be others that at least thought the same.

Was it too much to hope that maybe this girl was one of those few?

Probably. Taylor's life was too upside down for fortunate breaks.

She was also becoming quickly aware that she had failed to respond to the girl in a reasonable time, leaving the conversation to hang. Lisa was staring out her, her smile replaced with a confused sort of look, her head slightly tilted as if puzzling something out.

Damn. Why was she so spacey!? Yeah, she got lost in her thoughts, but it hadn't happened nearly as often before the workshop came into the picture. She was more scatter brained now that she couldn't sleep and felt like she was in some bizarre state of psychological exhaustion.

Taylor sighed, turning to the girl, looking away slightly as she regarded the bay and the water beyond, "Sorry, I get lost in my thoughts pretty easily. No, I don't remember seeing her. I got knocked out and when I came too she was gone. My dad told me that she stayed long enough for him to call the police."

Lisa's eyes narrowed minutely, ignoring her power for the moment.

That was the weakest explanation to date. Sure, some of the others had conflicting stories, but that usually due to embellishment. Her personal favorite was how the cape had swooned at some sort of reverse heroism by a civilian, his showboating going so far as to steal her first kiss.

It had been amusing, at the time, considering he had an equally disbelieving friend next to him.

This was different. This girl, Taylor, was clearly trying to downplay her interaction with the cape. Her powers all but confirmed it. Lisa began to frown as she came to a new conclusion.

This girl had never met the cape, never seen her. She was uncomfortable, not because she was socially awkward, but because she couldn't hold up a lie.

She was fishing for information, seeking something from Lisa that even she might not know. This wasn't a get together to discuss the mysterious heroin, like Lisa had wanted. It was gambit for intrigue.

Lisa took a deep breath, held in, then released, slowly, cooling her temper. Normally she would bite at the chance to turn a mind game on somebody, especially if it was some girl who thought she could pull a fast one. This time, however, she just couldn't find the energy to care. This was a topic that Lisa approached with care and consideration, something she really wanted to know for herself, not because her power grabbed it from whatever mind space it operated in. The cape had committed the ultimate act of heroism for her and her friends, driving Lisa to learn whatever she could about who the cape was, if only the honor the sacrifice.

If this girl wanted to play games then Lisa was having none of it.

"You never saw her."

Taylor's attention snapped back to the blonde, coming back to reality at the sound of the accusation. Her eyes went wide, mouth slightly parted, an expression recoiling from some shock.

Lisa scoffed to herself. This girl was really bad at keeping things hidden.

The girl started sputtering, her body taking a step back as if in defense, "W-What? What do you mean!? I was-"

"You were never there. You either didn't see her or you've seen some pictures. You only came to find out what I knew about the cape, searching on behalf of someone or for some strange perversion of your own."

Lisa's words were cold and harsh, her expression equally hard as she tore through the flimsy guise the girl had worn.

Taylor stood in shock, her mouth hanging, struggling to catch up to sudden assault.

Lisa wasn't going to give her the chance to respond.

"I don't appreciate being called out because someone wanted to investigate a cape. She hasn't been seen in days, not since Lung threw his fit and burned down a couple of blocks. She could be dead for all you know and your just exploiting others because your some 'fan'. Have some respect."

The blonde turned from the brunette, ignoring how the other girl had frozen up at her last words, and left, walking down the pier, now empty of visitors save them.

She cursed to herself, biting her lower lip in frustration. This was the last lead that she had ready access to, at least that would respond to her forum post. Sure, there were a lot of posts, but she had quickly separated them from those that 'probably' knew something. If she wanted more information she would have to do some deeper digging, hacking into some of the weaker PRT servers or maybe the E88 communications. The cape's involvement was largely an ABB matter, but Kaiser would likely want to know what had riled up his counterpart. Maybe there was some information to be had there.

Coil, of course, was a big negative. It was always possible that he already knew about the cape, but Lisa was determined to keep his attention away from the matter. She had a goal to achieve, a silent mission given to her as a last wish, and his interference would ruin everything.

Lisa had gone ten steps when she heard a soft voice echo out with words that stopped her cold.

"Did your friends get burned?"

Lisa's mind went into overdrive in an instant, a headache rising as she turned back to the girl, her eyes widening at the information pouring in.

 **No reason contact should be aware of Undersiders' presence at warehouse fire. Contact has knowledge outside the preview of what she should have. Identity of contact called into question. ABB? Unlikely. Not of asian descent. E88? Possibly, but with low margin. No evidence suggests E88 was aware of specific details surrounding Undersiders activities. Merchants? Unlikely. They have little concern over the events of ABB operation. Coil? Unlikely. Would utilize previous threat of lethal force to gather information, not a proxy. PRT/Protectorate? Highly unlikely. No knowledge of Tattletale's identity.**

Lisa stared at the girl, this time her mouth hanging as she watched in disbelief as pieces started coming together, like a great puzzle. The girl turned to face her, a supremely tired expression on her face, her glasses hanging by the collar of her hoody.

The Thinker felt a chill run down her back as she noted a pair of familiar green eyes, intense in their stare.

 **Contact has information that is not available to public knowledge. Contact has information that is largely unavailable to the villain community. Contact has information that is specifically unavailable to anyone not part of the events surrounding ABB operation against the Undersiders. Contact has information that places her in proximity of the fight with Lung.**

Lisa swallowed hard, the slight weight of her hidden taser not helping in the wake of her revelation.

It wouldn't matter anyway. If even Lung couldn't outmaneuver such speed then she was a lost case from the get go.

 **Contact has no need for eye correction. Likely fake, used to maintain appearance. Previous demeanor possible ploy used lower Tattletale's guard. Contact's physical profile is probable match against mystery cape. Theory is supported by contact's knowledge of events during ABB operation against Undersiders.**

Lisa opened her mouth, her voice quiet and strained, "H-How-"

"Don't think about it."

The answer was swift and hard, a complete turn around from previously.

Easier said than done.

 **Cape unlikely to survive injuries through conventional means. Numerous lacerations were present at assumed time of death. Unknown number of structural breaks. Highly unlikely that Lung would allow the Cape to escape to seek medical aid. Unlikely Cape would survive without immediate medical attention. Regeneration? Low possibility. Would have activated during fight with Lung. Outside aid? Not possible. Lung was left alone to 'cooldown' after fight ended. PRT/Protectorate arrived to contain the fire, not combat Lung.**

The pain was growing rapidly, her hands reaching up to grip her head as it throbbed and burned, like the start of a migraine. Her eyes clenched as she willed her power to stop, trying to chain it back from continuing, but she couldn't. It was a force, an acute desire to 'know' that came not just from her powers, but from her as well. She whimpered from the pain, stepping to the side to support herself against a railing.

The girl across from her stepped forward, her previous expression now one of worry, "Hey, are you ok?"

 **No viable survival method for cape found. Cape was vulnerable to all forms of damage. Cape showed no signs of regeneration. Cape showed no signs of fast escape power. Cape showed no signs of movement after final landing. Lung would never have let the Cape escape on her own. No clear method of survival can be found. Revival mechanism is highly likely.**

Her eyes shot open, the brunette not five feet away, walking toward her with worry, her feet quick.

Lisa couldn't help but step back, an instinctive reaction to a threat she didn't fully realize, and tumbled to the wood planks. She felt a few splinters work their way into her forearms, but that didn't matter. The pain in her head, a rolling echo of some kind of roaring, didn't really matter either.

What did matter was the girl standing over her, a look of confusion at the blonde's failed retreat.

 **Revival mechanisms are largely unknown. Most popular revival mechanism is hosted by 'Butcher'. Revival mechanism triggers after death, the killer becoming the 'new' Butcher. Accumulated power sets from multiple deaths are transferred as well. Cape clearly does not share same revival mechanism. Unclear if revival mechanism is immediate or delayed, though evidence suggests the latter. Unclear of specific trigger details of revival mechanism. Likely that revival mechanism is tied to a secondary power, as body was never found. Unclear how revival mechanism affects Cape. Unclear if Cape is the same version of herself before revival mechanism triggered.**

Lisa paled considerably, looking up at the girl with no small amount of fear, whispered words filling the void between the two, "What are you?"

Taylor looked down at the girl, her expression growing tired and grim, a deep frown marring her face. Her hands, once reaching out to help, retreated to their home in her hoody pocket, her entire body turning inward. She replied, words equally as silent, but so much more ominous.

"I don't know anymore."

Taylor lifted her spoon and sipped at the soup, a tangy mixture that did little to settle her nerves.

She hadn't known what to think when the girl collapsed, hadn't really known how to treat something so severe. Her medical kit had some pain killers, just some over the counter stuff, really only something she carried in case some civilian wound up bruised or whatever.

Migraines were another matter entirely.

It didn't help that the girl had looked at her with so much fear, so much fright, throwing herself off balance in her attempt to escape.

Taylor tried not to think about it. She already wondered if she was becoming a monster. She didn't need others thinking the same.

She had let the girl settle for a bit before helping her up with no small amount of force. She was careful about her strength, her control much better than when she first got her powers, and brow beat the blonde into coming to a small eatery that was out of the way from the crowds.

Said blonde, so wrapped up in whatever was going on with her head, wasn't really in a position to disagree.

Taylor was no stranger to the Boardwalk, the biggest tourist trap the city had. Even with the tourism industry mostly dead it was still one of the best places for someone to spend some time, largely safe from villains. She had spent no small amount of time there with her family, back when her mom was around, getting to know what shops were where and who had the best food. Even after her mom's death, and the subsequent divide between her father and herself, she spent time along the Boardwalk, visiting the same stores and shops, partially to hold onto those pleasant memories.

Her experiences served her well, giving her a place they could retreat to that would satisfy Lisa's desire to be sheltered away when talking about cape stuff. A small eatery, a place Taylor occasionally visited, particularly when she wanted to treat herself, sat huddled next to a clothing outlet and a sports store. It had a few chairs and tables outside, for patrons to enjoy the clear weather, like today, but Taylor had ignored such a tempting arrangement, half dragging the taller girl into the darkened interior.

Some part of her remembered that migraines caused photo-sensitivity. The knowledge gave her a sliver of pride, a small measure of comfort in the midst of her limited ability to help the suffering girl.

Settling them into one of the far booths she made couple of simple orders, frowning a bit at the cost. It wasn't that expensive, and she wasn't by any means broke, but money was pretty hard to come by in any case. Thankfully the messengers had provided her with the equipment she needed for her hunts, otherwise she'd probably be running around in some ragged clothes from a thrift store or in a suit she'd made herself.

She'd shaken her head at the last thought. Though she wasn't terrible at mending her clothes when needed, her skill with sewing wasn't that great, not to mention the cost of material.

The food arrived with surprising speed, an effect of the eatery not being very busy. Taylor ordered a soup she knew was good, something to settle her nerves, and something simple, a sandwich, for the struggling blonde, the girl having recovered enough to merely rest her elbows against table, hands pressing tightly against her temples.

Taylor reached out, pulling at a glass of water and taking a sizable swallow, watching the girl, the blonde's food untouched in the wake of the headache.

A few minutes after the food arrived, Lisa spoke, one eye cracking open, a lightly bloodshot thing that made Taylor blink.

"Did you know what was going to happen?"

The question was soft, a quiet tone that belied her pain. She reached over with her left hand, grabbing at her own water, and bringing it close, drawing a sip through the helpful straw.

Her eye never left Taylor's.

The brunette frowned, uncomfortable with the topic. It was clear what Lisa was talking about. It was something that unnerved the girl, causing no small amount of fear.

Taylor's frowned deepend, looking at the girl over the rim of her glasses, equally uncomfortable having to think about her own death. She replied, her words soft, "No, I didn't. Its happened before, when I started, but I thought that was a one off thing, a stroke of luck. I wasn't banking on a third chance."

Lisa groaned slightly, eye closing as her hand returned to her head, the limb retasked to more temple rubbing.

Taylor didn't know what to make of that act. Was the headache getting worse? She spoke, keeping her voice quite, remembering that the suffering girl might be noise sensitive, "Look, if its getting worse then we should probably get help. Maybe take you to the hospital or something."

The blonde quickly shook her head then immediately squeaked, stifling a shout of alarm at jarring her pain. She stilled for a few seconds, recovering from the misstep, before replying, her voice strained and her eyes closed, "No, we can't. No insurance and I'm not looking forward to that bill. It'll go away on its own, as long as I rest."

She opened her right eye, one that looked clearer, and continued, "It happens when I think too much, get it? I stress out things that shouldn't get stressed and wind up having to rest for a day or two. Its pretty annoying, and painful, but it usually takes time to get this bad, like hours."

She closed her eye, slumping forward slightly, an elbow nudging at her forgotten sandwich plate, and finished, "I start thinking about your case and suddenly everything goes wrong. I just can't help it, searching for answers that aren't really there or something. I dunno. You don't make any sense. Half of what I get is just speculation, the rest being emptiness, like some kind of dark space. Missing information that I can't identify."

Taylor frowned, glancing around to make sure they were relatively alone.

Right, clearly a Thinker. Her power has something to do with investigating and finding answers. That would explain why she'd been so easily cornered by those thugs, even if she had been able to run them around a few buildings, slightly to Taylor's chagrin.

She wasn't very good at roof hopping yet and was lucky no one had seen her that night. Her embarrassment would never have died.

Focusing her attention back to Lisa, she considered what she could do to help. Clearly overusing the Thinker power was causing problems, but what normally took the span of hours, possibly with constant use, to overload took only seconds with Taylor, something about her power set conflicting with the Thinker power.

What did that even mean? Was it an effect of the workshop? Maybe her use of the mark? Her physical abilities were pretty normal, by cape standards, so it couldn't be those.

She tried not to think about it too much and started advise the blonde to do the same.

Only to be shutdown and rebuked soon after.

"You don't understand how hard that is for me. Its a constant thing, like a light that's always on, searching for answers. I walk around in a crowd and find out things I really didn't want to know. Details behind families, work relationships; its like data just floating around, small details few would pick up on, and I can see it all. It takes concentration to hold it back and not think about that stuff, or just a really boring room."

She sipped from her water once again before continuing, "You, though, are an enigma. Something that's just hanging everything up and causing a lot of pain. You know how you feel when you really struggle with a problem, like on a test, and you just wrack your brain trying to figure it out but can't? Think along that scale, but then kick it up to 13. Now think about how that would feel if you had an obsessive, compulsive need to solve that problem. It a really hard thing to deal with."

Lisa went quiet for a few seconds and sighed, cracking an eye to look at the sympathetic brunette, "Look, I'm alright, for now. Its taking a lot of concentration to handle. Just don't do any overtly weird stuff around me while we're here."

Taylor nodded as the girl went back to rubbing her head.

The mark weighed heavily in her pants pocket, a constant mental reminder of how things had changed.

She pushed those thoughts away, focusing on what was important.

Right, no weird stuff. No talking about beasts, or how she hunted them, or how she went to some strange other world filled with graves and an animated doll whenever she slept.

She sighed, an exhaustion weighing over her. What part of her life wasn't 'weird'?

It was a depressing thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lisa, having recovered enough to take a bite of her sandwich.

"Why did you agree to meet?"

Taylor blinked at the question, suddenly aware of how suspicious her situation appeared. She had sacrificed herself to save Tattletale and her friends, buying time for them to flee while fighting something that she couldn't have beaten. Now she had unknowingly arranged a meet up with the civilian persona of that same hero. It had unsettling connotations.

Taylor spoke, swiftly moving to kill that thought, "I didn't know it was going to be you. I mean, specifically you from before. I had no idea who I was talking to beyond the messages you sent me."

The blonde eyed her with a small smirk on her face, clearly amused by her flustered state.

Taylor slumped, playing with her soup spoon, her words tired, "You know what the news have been saying about me?"

Lisa nodded slightly, her smirk turning downward.

The brunette continued, "Its something that's bothered me. I mean, who wouldn't? Its not like I meant for that stuff to happen, other than the worst ones. There's just certain acts that you shouldn't tolerate, monstrous things like what was going on that night."

Taylor stopped, noticing the strange look Lisa was giving her, a mixture of anxiety and confusion. She clearly didn't know where this was going.

Taylor wilted slightly, realizing that she was slipping back into that 'weird' mentality again, continuing with a quiet voice, "I think there's something wrong with me. I don't think the same way anymore, see things the same way. I have this drive to help, which I've always had, but its so much more violent and final, like an obsessive goal. Its not that bad now, but when you saw me it was all I could think about."

She sighed and continued, "I don't like being this way, but I don't think I have a choice. I just wanted to meet someone who was helped as proof that I'm doing a good thing, that all that violence meant something to the betterment of everyone."

She went quiet, a dark thought running through her mind and out her lips in a hushed whisper.

"I'm afraid I'll lose myself."

Taylor could feel that change in herself, had felt it ever since she had used the mark the first time. That part of her that sought to cleanse the city of the beasts and vermin plaguing it, eating it from the inside, terrifying the civilians. Looking back, she knew that she had become far more sensitive to the blight of the city than ever. Even in the midst of her research on the cape community in the city and the dark conclusion she had come to hadn't brought as much disgust and anger as she felt now.

The mark had changed her in a way she didn't understand, shaping her thoughts into something both foreign and disturbingly familiar, like a hidden truth within herself that she hadn't seen before.

She felt a hand rest on hers, a soft thing meant to console.

Looking up she saw Lisa, bloodshot eyes filled with sympathy and no small amount of determination.

"I'll help you, anyway I can."

Taylor was taken aback by the girl's words, a conviction sounding through that she hadn't expected. She responded, her confusion, and silent hope, apparent, "What?"

The blonde continued, her expression never wavering, "You saved my life, the lives of my friends. I thought you were gone, that I would never be able to express how thankful I am. I was prepared to carry on your mission, to do what I could to see a brighter future for the city. With you here, I'll do whatever I need to do in order to help you."

She gave a meaningful squeeze to Taylor's hand, her words soft, "I could tell you were messed up when I first met you, but I didn't see how bad it was. Look, you have good intentions, but we all know what kind of road that leads down. I know about what's going on here, who's important, what the score is. If you go out there on your own it'll only be a matter of time before the entire system comes down on you. If you are worried about losing yourself, then you need someone to guide you, point you in a direction that's more or less safe. Let me help."

Taylor didn't know what to say, couldn't speak past the irritating lump in her throat. She hadn't saved Tattletale and the others for any reason other than that she had to, that she was the only one who could have handled a monster like Lung. She didn't expect gratitude, much less anything on this level.

She couldn't ignore how it pulled at feelings long dead and scarred, emotions tied to her former best friend.

The brunette looked down, seeing Lisa's hand over her own, and wondered if she really could trust the girl. Sure, she had saved the blonde's life, but it wasn't without exchange, technically. The circumstances of their presence at the scene was a bit suspicious and she knew so little of the girl across the table.

Still, the girl had, more or less, offered to be her friend and confidant, something Taylor knew she would desperately need if her changes continued.

An uncomfortable thought resonated through her as she pondered Lisa's last statement.

How different was she from the beasts she hunted? How much would that line blur as she continued?

She shook her head, clearing those disgusting thoughts. She focused on the blonde and gave a small smile, a forced thing spurned on by desperation against the inevitable.

"Sure."


	21. Impurity 5

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors

Lisa bit her lower lip, worry permeating her mind as her headache pounded away, her focus split between driving and keeping her power contained.

It had been no small amount of effort to convince Taylor to meet her team, the other girl being hesitant about other people knowing her identity. Pointing out that it would be an exchange of identities had not helped out much, the brunette's trust issues getting in the way. Lisa pressed on, finally convincing her counterpart by way of how grateful the others would be at seeing their savior, and how it would help Taylor see that she was doing good in the city.

The blonde felt her guilt rise and clamped it down. Taylor was a scatterbrained, idealistic girl who's powers were forcing her in a direction of extreme action. She was powerful, too strong to be left alone. Someone had to step up to guide the girl through her mission, to control her when she became difficult to work with.

Lisa knew that if someone was going to step up then it might as well be a person Taylor could trust, that could be her friend.

Good intentions. She knew how those ended.

They had taken their time finishing lunch before leaving, making their way to her truck as quickly as possible, the sounds of the crowded street pounding like hammers to Lisa's migraine. Taylor, worried if Lisa was in any shape to drive, the girl having little to no experience herself, voiced a concern about safety.

"Are you sure you're alright? We could always call a cab or take the bus. You could just send someone back for the truck."

Lisa rebuked the argument by stating that between the distance, the time, and the ever ticking down parking meter, it would make far more sense to just take the truck. Additionally, it wouldn't do to leave the vehicle around for anyone to recognize.

Which led to some really awkward questioning and a very uncomfortable revelation.

Lisa glanced to her side, taking in the brunette. She was silent, eyes peering forward just over her glasses, her body slumped against the seat, her right hand playing with something in her hoodie pocket.

 **Possible weapon. Possible defensive measure in case meeting went wrong.**

Lisa struggled to contain her power, turning her eyes away to the road, thankful for the sunglasses she'd found in the glove box.

Tattletale was a villain. The Undersiders were a villain group.

It wasn't something that Lisa was comfortable with, even on the best of days. Sure, she enjoyed the freedom, and they had really only hit the gangs so it wasn't like they were hurting anyone important, but being a villain wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't what any of them wanted. They had all been brought together, under the auspice of their terrible patron or 'boss', aimed to complete a few heists and hits, their gains being whatever loot they salvaged.

Lisa had enough money that she could have bought a nicer truck than what she was using. Brand new. Hell, she could have made a special order to the manufacturer for some cool decals or something.

Instead, she saved it, banking whatever she could under another identity, just in case something came along, an opportunity she could use to get out of her terrible arrangement, when money would be tight.

Strange that she would stumble into that opportunity on one of the worst nights of her life, a figure covered in blood and fire with a weapon that seemed to cut through the night.

Lisa had been forced into crime, literally at gunpoint, leaving her with little option other than to go alone, perform the bidding of some powerful villain, and do as she was told. Her research into Coil had only amounted to incidental findings, small things that more or less showed the scope of his influence rather than whom was at the center of the web.

Taylor, to her credit, took as it well as she could have. She didn't freak out, start yelling, or start killing. She hadn't returned to calling Lisa a beast, yet, and to that the blonde was entirely grateful. She saw what happened to those with that label, their bodies mangled and torn by a blade so much more wicked than it seemed.

Instead, she had asked some pointed questions, her voice calm and soft, her body tense and rigid.

"Who is Coil? What have you done that's villainous? Have you killed anyone? How do you intend to help my mission?"

Lisa's answers were swift, a property borne from her wariness over the girl's instability. She divulged the sum total of what she knew about Coil, how far his probable reach extended and what his possible ambitions were. She revealed details of the small missions that they had been sent on, targeted hits against the other gangs that were annoying at best, like a mosquito that just wouldn't go away.

The next question touched a bit closer to home. Lisa had never killed anyone, directly anyway. She couldn't be blamed for the actions of others. She could, however, harbor the guilt.

The final question, however, took some explaining.

"I'm a Thinker. My job, normally, is to figure out how our operations work. How we get in and get out without getting caught. The only heavy hitter we have is Bitch, the one with the dogs I mentioned. We're not really well suited for a prolonged fight with the other groups, which makes my job all the more important. I also get relied on for general intelligence gathering. Basic Thinker stuff. Connect the dots here and make lists there. Really, the only reason why I'm in the field is because they wouldn't have accepted me otherwise, which would have been a major issue since Coil wanted us all together."

She continued, eyes squinted as the sun hit her during a turn, "I'm aware of the villain community in a way you couldn't be. Sure, you've done research into capes, but its literally been my job for a few months now. I have a pretty good idea about current events, who is targeting whom and over what resources. I can also help you with the Protectorate capes, including the Wards. We've had a few run ins with the latter, probably the safest thing we could fight in my opinion. They're amateurish, young, and use non lethal tactics. I can provide you with all of that information, plus the planning needed for your operations against the gangs. I'd rather not go out into the field unless necessary, but I can if need be.

She glanced over at the brunette, their eyes meeting for a moment, "I was a villain, Taylor, and I'm not going to hide it. I was forced into that life. I'm not your enemy. If anything, I'm your friend and ally. You killed yourself against Lung for me and that's not something I'll ever forget."

The drive was quiet the rest of the way, the sounds of the city cocooning the solemn pair.

"You ready?"

The brunette paused, her body tense. She took a breath and seemed to straighten her back. Her exhale, a forceful one, complemented her expression of determined resignation.

"Sure."

Lisa sighed, a little put out from her partner's morose attitude. Still she pressed forward, opening the door with ease and inviting the girl in with a simple wave.

The interior was poorly lit, the light from some faded windows providing the only illumination. Great figures loomed in the darkness, the salvaged remains of machines and constructs that once operated within this place. Sheets had been placed over the worse looking ones, implements that bared sharp ends of racks and unsightly equipment that had been reduced to skeletal remains.

Lisa scrunched her nose at the dust in the air, an accumulation that they had never been able to be rid of.

Setting up in an abandoned factory had not been her first choice. Hell, it hadn't even been on the list of choices.

Lisa turned to Taylor and observed the girl. She had widened her stance slightly, her right arm held loose at her waist, her left still fumbling with whatever was in her hoodie pocket. She was watching her surroundings with trepidation, as if she was walking into a trap.

 **Cape expects to be attacked. Probable history of betrayal from peer group.**

Lisa rolled her eyes and motioned toward a spiral staircase, a metal thing that had seen better days, just off in a corner.

"Come on. The real place is upstairs."

They quickly made their way up the stairs, Lisa skipping a damaged step every so often while Taylor mimicked the blonde.

Lisa took her first full step into the loft and gave a small wave.

"Hey guys!"

The staircase had opened up into a living space. Two couches, set at a right angle, lay flanked by a robust entertainment center. In the center sat a coffee table, a simple thing littered with paper cups, aluminum cans, and some pizza boxes. Off to the side sat a few more tables and chairs, a set of shelves filled with odds and ends, magazines and books to candles and a stereo.

The loft was very open, lacking walls that would normally divide a house. Instead, a series prefab walls had been set up to create a handful of cubicles, rooms for privacy. To the far end looked to be cabinets and the making of a kitchen, hidden just behind the 'rooms'.

Taylor eyed the place with no small amount of wonder.

So this is a villain hideout? They were set up better than some heroes! How was that any fair!?

She eyed the vaulted ceiling high above her, metal girders spanning the structure for support.

These people made out like bandits while so many were suffering from Lung's rampage, and they weren't even a large villain group. Gangs like the ABB or the E88 would have so much more influence and power, capable of pulling in a significant amount of wealth. Some had lost homes and others had lost businesses to the fire. Over a hundred had died from the attack alone, so many more wounded or maimed. Even if these guys could give a fraction of what they were showing here to a charity it would help, it would make a difference to someone.

Her fist clenched around the mark, its smooth texture doing little to soothe her.

Monsters. Beasts. Capes that preyed upon normal folk just trying to live, reaping so much just because they could.

The hero community had conspired with the villains to live-let-live, depriving the people they were meant to protect of their only shield against the beasts. They were desperate, living in a subtle fear of the next Endbringer attack or of escalating gang violence. She was a hunter because nobody else would do what it took to stop the predation.

An extreme reaction to an equally extreme situation.

"Hey!"

The shout startled her, eyes blinking as their green gaze focused in on her blond friend. The girl looked worried, her head tilted in that way that suggested that she was probably using her power. Taylor held the blonde's gaze for a few moments before coming to her senses.

The Undersiders. Their hideout.

She was supposed to meet Lisa's friends.

Taylor shook her head, her right hand coming up to smooth out her curls, a small action of distress. She breathed in and out, focusing on the feeling of a cool breeze and a field of sweetly scented flowers.

"Sorry."

The response was quiet, eyes looking away as if embarrassed.

Lisa gave the younger girl a small smile, a consoling hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She turned and regarded the others. Regent was sitting on a couch, feet up and arms behind his head, looking entirely disinterested in what was going on. Grue, on the other hand, was standing off to the side, having gotten up to greet the guest.

Lisa smiled, her words upbeat, "Everyone, this is the hero I've been talking about. Turns out she was able to make it through that scrap with Lung. You'll have to excuse her but she gets a bit spacey."

Taylor snorted at the comment.

Right, play off the mental degradation as being ditzy. Thanks.

She watched as Lisa disregarded her noise, instead motioning toward one of the guys, a tall teenager with dark chocolate skin and shoulder length cornrows. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt which showed off the muscle definition in his arms.

"This is Grue, the leader of our motley crew."

Taylor narrowed her eyes, glancing at the blonde in a small amount of confusion, and said, "I thought you were the brains."

Grue stepped forward, approaching the pair, a smirk on his face, his voice that of a young adult or late teenager, "She is. I just give the 'ok' on her less than insane plans."

He reached out with his right hand, a cordial action.

"Nice to meet you. Thanks for saving our skins back there."

Hesitating at first, Taylor accepted the handshake, her response simply, "No problem."

Lisa smiled, giving a small clap, and said, "See, already making friends. Now, over there is Regent. Don't mind him, he's a bit of a slouch."

Taylor turned her attention to the other teenaged boy. He was smaller than Grue, probably around her age, and had a head of black curly hair. His face was triangular, with features that she would describe as pretty though not necessarily handsome. He was wearing a dark blue shirt under a open white jacket with a pair of jeans while sitting on the couch, staring at her with a pair of blue eyes.

He didn't greet her, instead he scowled and stared, an intense gaze that put her on edge. A moment passed by, then another, before he spoke, words hard and fast, "Thought you were dead."

Taylor felt her hand clench around the mark, her mind briefly remembered waking up in a field of white flowers.

Her reply was short, green eyes boring into his, "I got better."

He snorted, reaching out for a coke can on the table, and replied, "Clearly."

Grue frowned, stepping between the two.

"Don't mind him. Believe me, we're all grateful that you showed up. We were dead without your help, so thank you."

His words were deep and calm, an expression of sincerity upon his face. He meant it. They were totally screwed that night, faced against a monster they couldn't have handled.

Taylor swept the room, her eyes lingering on each person for a moment. These were the people she had saved. These were the people she had traded her life for. A bunch of teenagers. A bunch of villains.

It was a bittersweet thought.

Finally, she nodded, accepting his words, her hand fumbling with the mark, its presence somewhat calming.

Grue nodded as well, glad to have the situation defused. He motioned to the TV, a large flat screen that took up way too much space, asking, "So, do you have a name? The news mentioned you but the PRT hadn't put anything out."

"Mentioned a lot of other stuff too", Regent muttered.

Grue gave him a sharp look, one that was returned casually.

Taylor ignored the teen, instead replying with some frustration, "Just...look, I don't have a name. I'm just a hunter of the beasts. Call me whatever you want."

That seemed to confuse the dark skinned teen, his expression turning into something a little lost.

Lisa stepped forward, motioning toward the two.

"Well we can't just call you 'that girl' or whatever. I doubt a title for a name suits you, so how about something short and simple? What about 'Beast Hunter'?"

The brunette sighed deeply, looking at the girl with no small amount of consternation, clearly tired of dealing with the issue of a name. She rolled her eyes, looking away and towards the entertainment center, her words muttered, "Just 'Hunter'. People think I'm weird enough already."

"Cause you are."

Lisa turned and narrowed her eyes at Regent, holding her powers back as she fought the drumming in her head from the migraine earlier.

What's his problem? Why's he trying to pick a fight?

She wasn't alone as she watched Taylor step around Grue and herself, stopping just short of the opposite couch and asking, "What's your problem?"

Regent shrugged, eyeing the taller girl, and replied casually, "Just trying to feel out what your about. You say your a hero. News says your a villain with a body count. You saved us from Lung, which means we owe you. Waiting for the other shoe to drop is all."

It was a simple way to look at things, but essentially he was right. Taylor's status as a cape was ambiguous and she had saved them at great cost.

God damn it Regent, now was not the time!

Before Lisa or Grue could step in the brunette responded, her body stiff, the hand in her pocket still, "You don't owe me anything. I didn't save you for a favor."

"Bullshit." His words were swift and hard, eyes watching the girl only a few yards from himself. He continued in the same manner, "Your tough, I'll give you that. I saw you go toe to toe with Lung even after he went full beast mode. You didn't have to get involved, but you did. You either have something against the ABB or you were looking to pick up a favor in us."

At that Grue stepped up, a hand coming across in a cutting motion, and said, "That's enough! Don't antagonize her, Regent. She saved our lives. Leave it alone."

The dark haired boy looked away, a muttered 'whatever' echoing out as he sipped his coke.

Lisa swallowed hard as she watched Taylor, the girl staring just beyond a window and out into the afternoon sky.

Her powers screamed at her, struggling against the suppression.

 **Cape** **is likely considering life debt. Cape disapproves of villains. Cape is exceptionally dangerous when provoked with villainous intent.**

She watched as Grue moved over to Taylor, his words calm and low, "Look, we really are grateful of your actions, despite what they may be-"

"Stop."

Taylor's sudden words halted him, verbally and physically, his body freezing at the command. Lisa watched as the girl turned around and walked back toward the stairs. She stopped alongside Lisa, glancing at the girl over her glasses, and said in quiet tones, "I saved their lives. Make them stop before I have to take them in return."

The blonde's eyes widened at the implications as the younger girl moved away.

 **Threat not unsubstantiated. Cape wiling to use lethal force when present with lethal force. Cape willing to maim or cripple to remove criminal element. Cape is unstable in regards to her view of the cape community. Cape will not accept a truce between Undersiders and herself.**

Her brain caught up just in time to see Taylor reach the stairs.

"Hunter!"

The girl stopped, a hand on the railing. She turned slightly, one eye showing from around her hood.

Lisa quickly fished out a flip phone from her back pocket and tossed it, the girl catching the item with a small yelp of surprise.

She stared at the cellphone as if it was a foreign creature, her confused look turning to the blonde for answers.

Lisa smiled, an expression that belied her inner worry, and said, "Its a burner. It has my number in it so we can keep in touch."

Taylor looked at the phone, considered leaving it, then stuffed it into her hoodie pocket next to the mark. She nodded at Lisa and walked away, headed down the stairs and into the dark world below.

Such was fitting for a hunter, she supposed.


End file.
